


All She Wanted

by passionatelysimple



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 129,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29454897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionatelysimple/pseuds/passionatelysimple
Summary: All she really wanted was for somebody to want to be there, for somebody to really like her. It's basically a rewrite of the first 13 episodes but rewritten so Rachel never comes back to help the Glee Club at Invitationals.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 17
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This was born out of love (just like Rachel Berry) when a friend and I were talking about how our girl needs to stop caring so much, be selfish and tell the club she's not going to take it :)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** The characters of Glee (and the borrowed scenes) are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. No copyright infringement is intended.

Rachel Berry wasn't an ordinary girl. From a young age, she survived primarily on her two gay dad's love, show tunes and Broadway bravado. _Funny Girl_ just spoke to her in ways Walt Disney never could and _West Side Story_ was made with her life in mind.

She knew the moment she tapped her way to first place in her amateur tap class when she was three—and it seemed almost natural to prepare a small acceptance speech thanking her family and the angels—that she was made for the bright lights of Broadway. Sure, being from Lima, Ohio definitely offered its fair share of obstacles—the place was so unknown it was completely possible to blink and miss it on the highway while driving passed—but she wasn't one to give up. She was talented and all the iconic stars of previous generations agreed: she had to stop at nothing to achieve greatness.

But, the road was just as lonely as it was going to be at the top. Nobody wanted to befriend the girl that knew all the Broadway classics by heart and thought argyle and plaid happened to give her the perfect silhouette. Instead they viciously tossed colourful sugary beverages in her eyes, which truthfully she could never understand. The money her tormenters went through on slushies in a week could definitely be put to a better use. Helping one of the many socially conscious charities she planned on supporting when she's famous was certainly better than ruining everything in her wardrobe.

Yet, it was getting harder to ignore all the bad in her life and hold her head up high day after day. She still didn't have a boyfriend, everybody hated her, heck, aside from snide remarks and slushie showers nobody even acknowledged she existed. All she really wanted was for somebody to want to be there, for somebody to really like her.

So that was why it mattered when she found out Quinn was pregnant. Sure, it was awful—and some part of Rachel way down was tickled pink at the fact the cheerleader was finally getting a taste of karma—but, it also effectively took away the only person that was ever in her corner: Finn. When, he was around, the petty insults and the slushie facials didn't seem so bad anymore because she had someone that cared about her no matter what, except he really didn't, did he? Just like everybody else.

The Glee Club only tolerated her for her voice and though it hurt her somewhat to admit, it was fine. She'd take all the sarcastic jibes and the constant putdowns when she got a little too excited about things, just because being apart of the club made her special. They would be special—she knew that for sure.

But, finding out Finn just wanted her for her voice—invited her out on a date, kissed her and lead her to believe he liked her as much as she liked him just so she could help him get a scholarship—it just made all the crap she put up with in Glee not worth it anymore. Now, every last person in that room couldn't stand her and how was she going to feel special if she didn't feel like part of the group at all? It was like finding out your favourite singer was lip-syncing her way to a platinum record or that Santa Claus wasn't really real—it just left her feeling cheated and so betrayed.

She had quit the play, after the nightmare of Sandy Ryerson sneaking into her room in a sequined cat burglar suit to try to suffocate her with his own matching sequined pillow had plagued her unconscious mind three nights in a row. Clearly, any more time with the man would be detrimental to her health and she wasn't about to risk her bright future on a school play that Ms. Sylvester built—even if it was _Cabaret_.

On the bright side, when the slightly demonic cheerleading coach realized she wasn't giving any indication she was returning to Glee, the woman actually left her alone—it was kind of ironic that even Sue Sylvester only wanted her for her voice too, well, only wanted to keep her voice away from Glee Club anyway. Somehow that whole revelation made her feel even worse.

When Mr. Schuester—with his over the top excitement and bright vicarious eyes that matched the highlights in his curly brown hair—cornered her in the hall one day, Rachel feared the worst. It had been hard enough standing in the back of the auditorium and watching the club sing with that alcoholic, April Rhodes—though if she was being perfectly honest it was a little satisfying to know that they didn't go back on to finish the set when the woman seemed to disappear during intermission—but it was going to be even worse, now, he was going to beg her to come back.

She could feel it, along with the churning in her stomach and the weird tingling from her sixth sense. Rachel really didn't want to disappoint him because he was right when he said he was her only fan. But, she was done helping people that clearly didn't want her—she had more self-respect than that.

"Rachel," the man said with a bright dimply smile that she could admit was mildly attractive but definitely not enough for Miss Pillsbury to get weak in the knees over, "I'm glad I caught you."

And, while Rachel would normally let this carry on, since she was almost positive there'd be enough compliments mixed into his speech that she'd enjoy it, she knew how it felt to be lead on. The more Mr. Schue talked, the more he'd believe she'd be coming back and unfortunately that wasn't going to happen.

"Mr. Schue," she exclaimed, raising one of the hands that she had wrapped around her body to keep her books to her chest. "While I appreciate what you're trying to do, I'm not coming back. I refuse to be apart of something special that doesn't make me feel special. It's demeaning and damaging to one's self-esteem to continue to masochistically subject one self to a continuous stream of hurtful words and tactless actions. So my resignation stands but you have lots of leading potential in the room, you'll be fine without me."

With a small sigh, she walked away cradling her books a little firmer to her chest. She wanted to turn back and tell him she changed her mind, especially when she knew he was staring at her while she walked down the hall to her next period class, but when she remembered the sarcastic comments and Finn just thinking it was okay to use her like he did—Rachel kept walking.

She saw Kurt and Mercedes trying to hide their faces with the doors of their lockers as she passed them. They had been clearly eaves dropping on Mr. Schue's attempts to lure her back and Rachel couldn't help but smile slightly when they whirled around to face the inside of their lockers when they realized she had caught them. Both started whispering to one another about something Rachel just couldn't make out and it didn't really matter since common sense pretty much made it impossible not to know it was about her.

The warning bell went, and Rachel turned her head to figure out how far away she was from History, when the cool burning sensation of corn syrup in her eye and ice sliding underneath her shirt welcomed her with the kindness of a head cold.

Nothing was ever going to change. She was still a little abrasive, bossy and conceited. People still thought she was a doormat they could walk all over and dump beverages on. But, at least she was doing something; she was standing up for herself where it mattered most. Because Glee Club was important to her and she just wanted the people she cared so much about to at least respect her enough to pretend they cared back.

Sighing, she realized the halls were now empty and she slowly spun on her heels to head back to her locker for her emergency slushie removal kit. At least it wasn't cherry—she hated cherry.


	2. Chapter 2

School had been pretty horrendous, almost as bad as having Laryngitis in the second grade. She had went on a hunger strike for two hours until her dads finally caved and said they'd pay for her own vocal coach—clearly the free one at the youth centre downtown was incompetent if she lost her voice for a week. Unfortunately, starving herself wasn't going to help with her current predicament, so the moment Rachel got home, she reached into the freezer, pulling out a pint of Rocky Road, and went up to her room to play the playlist she had dedicated solely to Celine Dion's critically acclaimed _Lets Talk About Love_ Tour of 1998.

The taste of chocolate on her tongue really did make her feel better, at least momentarily. Of course, she knew that there was a chemical in chocolate that encouraged the body to release serotonin into the brain—Daddy thought Alton Brown was dreamy—but she shoved another spoonful into her mouth with little hesitation. After a while, Celine and the chocolate high lulled Rachel into a haze of relaxation so it was quite possible to think about today with the proper amount of unbiased detachment she hadn't been able to find earlier.

She was pretty sure the Glee Club had been stalking her. She heard Artie trailing behind her like a stranger in a van those Stranger Danger police officers warned her about in elementary school and she was almost positive Tina dove into a classroom to avoid detection. Mercedes and Kurt took to wearing sunglasses and standing completely still because Rachel apparently couldn't possibly see them if they weren't moving. At least the Cheerios daily routine hadn't changed from the glares and scathing remarks that implied she was some kind of drag queen.

Really, it wasn't anything she couldn't handle—all her life she was used to people looking at her in disgust because of her dads or treating her like the plague for something completely different—so Rachel tried to take it all in stride. After all, it was the perfect opportunity to familiarize herself with what it would feel like being followed around by the Paparazzi in New York.

Of course, then she saw Finn. All day, he'd send her these wounded glances in the hallways and in class, looking just like he did when she rejected his apology for using her. It was then that everything started to become a bit overwhelming, actually a bit irritating if she was perfectly honest. He was the one that lied to her, he was the one that lead her on and made her believe that he liked her. He completely humiliated her and now he was acting like she was the one that did something wrong. Rachel was starting to think that he had no idea how badly he hurt her—his oblivious nature wasn't exactly charming anymore.

Sighing, Rachel put the lid back on the ice cream container and slid the tiny container onto her bedside table. She brought one of the pillows on her bed to her chest and held on tight, while squeezing her eyes shut like she was trying to force the horrible day she had out through her eye sockets. It obviously didn't work but now her eyes were watering—she wasn't sure if they were tears or just from the pressure.

With a loud groan, Rachel tossed her pillow back onto the bed and jumped up to grab the abandoned ice cream container. She worked on her breathing techniques all the way downstairs and by the time she tossed the container back in the freezer, she was almost back to normal.

Her fathers wouldn't be home until late tonight. Her Daddy Leroy had picked up an extra shift at the hospital after the flu had wiped out half the staff and her Dad Hiram was part of the hospital's legal team that had been hard at work prepping for a malpractice suit for the last couple weeks. It was nights like this that she wished she had somebody to call—sitting alone at home all by herself pretty much felt exactly like it sounded. Not even a steady stream of the nirvana that was Barbra Streisand live and in colour could fully make her forget how lonely she was—it came close though.

According to the clock on the stove—that Rachel made sure was set to Greenwich Mean Time right down to the second—she had exactly four hours to kill until she'd be taping a previously selected song that best showcased her above par vocal ability and the innate star–like stage presence she was known for to put on her _MySpace_ page.

Her daily postings were as much practice for when she was a Broadway star, and planned to use all the various social networking sites available on the web to connect with her fans, as they were a chance to be discovered. Of course, thus far all it did was open herself to more ridicule—and Jacob Ben Israel developing a creepy fixation on her and sending her a video of him singing _Every Breath You Take_ taped in night vision as he stood outside of her house—but she was adamant that if she kept posting it would pay off.

Shaking her head, Rachel glanced at the takeout menu drawer, which was surprisingly diverse for a small town in Ohio, and decided to heat up something from the fridge instead. Her fathers loved _Lean Cuisine_ , since they were already helpfully packaged with healthy eating in mind, but it was also a well-hidden secret that Rachel made soup almost as well as she did her 'I'm Sorry' cookies. It was how she spent Saturday afternoons: chopping vegetables until they were perfect three centimetre cubes and spending hours making stock from scratch while singing along to Janet Jackson's _Rhythm Nation_ album. Since it was only Wednesday, there should still be some left.

The container was already half empty when Rachel finally pulled it out of the fridge—her fathers must have taken some to work. She went about heating some up while humming her way through the opening bar of _The Power of Love_ and as she waited for the soup to start to simmer, she found herself reflecting on her day at school again.

As much as she appreciated the attention of being followed—because having stalkers only solidified her soon-to-be stardom—it really only reaffirmed her decision to leave. They knew they were in trouble without her and they were trying to figure out how to get her—voice—back.

Rachel hadn't lied to Mr. Schue when she said he would be fine. Mercedes was a great singer and Tina was pretty good as well, not to mention Quinn and Santana's voices were okay enough to use with the right music—occasionally sharp, of course, but great. Yet, if they were stalking her and Mr. Schue had appeared to ask her to come back, the last Glee practice must not have went well.

It was a little surprising, since they were all so quick to object every time she sang and lobbied for a solo and yet, the moment she left so did their confidence. That was what it had to be because they obviously weren't better without her, but they could handle singing the majority of the songs in the New Directions' playbook with a little rearranging.

She had promised herself she'd stay away because she didn't want to foster any false hope of her returning and it really just hurt too much. But, as always, Rachel's best intentions—or just the worrisome masochistic complex she had just realized she had—proved to be no match for her yearning of wanting things way too much.

_No Glee rehearsals and the Footloose-esque neighbourhood petition to ban singing on her street had been her downfall. She had taken to practicing in the auditorium after school and unfortunately, halfway through her moving rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow her curiosity got the better of her. Rachel just had to know why they seemed so desperate for her back and ten minutes later she found herself leaning up against the lockers to the left of the music room door, listening to the club's most popular song—actually it was probably one of the world's most popular songs now that she thought about it._

_Truthfully, she hadn't really been a classic rock fan—except for when her Daddy went through that Aerosmith phase after they watched Armageddon for movie night one Friday—but being in Glee had changed all that. She downloaded Don't Stop Believin' for reference after Finn had given them the sheet music and then some more stuff that was helpfully recommended to her until her iTunes allowance was completely shot for the month in a few short hours._

_The club had sounded okay with Quinn taking the female solo, not as great as she could sing it, of course, because honestly her years of vocal training made her above par vocally and Quinn's voice wasn't meant for a song with that pace or range. Mr. Schue really should know that but then again the man had tried to make them sing disco at an assembly, so Rachel wasn't too sure what to think._

_She had no idea how long she stood listening until Quinn had run out of the room with a hand over her mouth but it was her queue to exit stage left if she wanted to avoid seeing Finn, who would probably be following his girlfriend at any moment. As Rachel had walked away from the music room, she wondered if maybe all she'd ever get in life were people that loved her voice. Those were what fans were right? And the more she thought about it, the more it seemed pretty apparent that she was holding out for something that wouldn't happen._

_She felt so guilty for leaving a club she essentially started. She cared about the club, even if they didn't care about her, and they obviously needed help if Quinn couldn't even make it through one song—not that Rachel was blaming her, since it kind of wasn't in the blonde's control to prevent.  
_   
_Rachel felt like she was letting them down and blasting the Wicked Original Cast Recording in her car on the way home didn't help ease the guilt._

Sighing, she switched off the stove and once her soup was in a bowl Rachel took it to the living room where she had tossed her school bag earlier. She just had _Hamlet_ to read—since she actually used Study Hall for working on her homework—so the next couple hours were spent alternating between the television and the book in her hands. Rachel had read _Hamlet_ a couple times already but she wanted to brush up on it for the quiz tomorrow in English.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, she was bounding up the stairs to start warm-ups for her _MySpace_ video, even more excited than usual because it was a reprieve from complete boredom. As Rachel started up her laptop, she wasn't surprised to see alerts for new comments on her page, since the Cheerios never missed a performance, but she wasn't about to let that dampen her spirits. Everyday, she checked the messages with a bright smile without fail.

There were a couple messages from the Cheerios like she suspected—she could never really decipher who was who since they all were some variation of the word 'Cheerio' with accompanying numbers—and the smile was just about wiped off her face by the time she read them all. The girls were certainly repetitive with their insults, Rachel could probably recite them from memory by now but she quickly shook it off, instead focusing on preparing for her new video.

It wasn't until she was ready to start with the dress rehearsal she'd partake in every night just to get herself used to the Broadway routine, that another alert popped up with a familiar chime.

Rachel hesitated briefly before closing the water bottle in her hand—as it was important to be properly hydrated for every performance—and walking over to open the message anyway. It couldn't be any worse than what she'd already read and she didn't want her curiosity to distract her during rehearsal.

Expecting to see something about being sterilized, being a man or quite possibly just an insult on her appearance altogether, Rachel had not been expecting:

_You're beautiful. I just thought you should know._

The water bottle fell to the floor when she realized the name beside it was a variation of one of the many usernames belonging to the high school cheerleading squad that hated everything about her.

Her new _MySpace_ video was posted three hours late.


	3. Chapter 3

Walking through the doors of William McKinley High School had never felt like this, mostly because Rachel Berry prided herself on being professional and had long ago shed the nerves a much less experienced performer might have. But, today was different; she was nervous today, complete with giant butterflies nesting in her stomach and an aversion to anything red. She had pretty much convinced herself that the comment had been a practical joke of some kind and Cheerios would be descending on her to finish their plans for humiliation at any moment.

Luckily, she was a fast walker and her sixth sense was more powerful in the mornings, that, and how bright the school colour's were. She was so preoccupied with trying to dodge the cheerleading squad that seemed to multiply faster than she could see them—seriously there were so many of them—that she completely overreacted by jumping ten feet in the air when Jacob Ben Israel's face suddenly appeared as she slammed her locker door shut.

His greasy little JewFro was matted to his head and he leaned in closer to her, his usual smell of Vicks VapoRub and Old Spice bludgeoning her sense of smell. The creepy leering had somehow become even creepier, like a physical caress that left her wanting to drown in a swimming pool full of bleach, and unfortunately he started talking before she could escape.

"The independent polling company in my Dockers has determined you're the hottest girl in the school."

Rachel's stomach turned in disgust and she was pretty sure the homemade green tea—a secret combination of herbs and spices blended together to maximize the longevity of a voice like hers—wasn't going to stay down for long.

"Eww," she gagged, a violent shiver wreaking havoc on her entire body.

She couldn't get away from him fast enough.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to get the message because he was running after her and yelling something about reading his blog. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She'd done nothing but inform him his advances were very much not welcome and yet he was still following her in the hall. Willing herself to remember her breathing techniques, Rachel took a deep breath and decided to try again.

"Of course not. You're a gossipmonger. Your blog is nothing but trash and lies, many of them about me."

She hoped that would get him to leave her alone. The fact she wasn't interested in anything he had to say, actually anything he was involved in period, but sadly he started in on another monologue.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that the one I'm working on right now has nothing to do with you or your rumoured lust for Jew fros. It's about Quinn Fabray. Word on the street is that she's in trouble."

For a moment Rachel was able to convince herself that he wasn't talking about, what deep down she knew he was, but when he started to creepily rub his stomach it made her own turn along with his hands. Luckily, Rachel Berry prided herself on being a triple threat—acting was number two on the long list of things she was good at—so she stopped and decided to do her best in talking him out of it.

"Where did you hear that?" she said as curiously as she could, unconsciously pressing the books in her arms hard enough against her chest that air flew from her lungs in a nervous rush of air.

He leaned in closer and she would've gagged again if the situation weren't so dire. "Are you denying it?"

"Yes."

The word slipped out easily and the fact that it mattered to her so much forced her to walk away—his smell was getting to her too.

"Because the same birdie told me you're heart broken that Finn Hudson didn't choose you to carry his litter."

He screamed it down the hall and her legs involuntarily stopped. Rachel knew she shouldn't care, knew that getting involved would only hurt her in the long run, but the fact of the matter was, she did care—a lot. She was walking back towards him without another thought.

Taking a breath, Rachel looked up at him, trying to ignore the smug look on his face, that quickly turned into a look too disgusting for words, when she said, "What is it going to take for you to not run the story?"

* * *

Rachel Berry thrived on routine. She felt it necessary to control every aspect of her life, not just because she refused to let herself go wild and waste her infamous Hollywood rehab moment on her childhood like Drew Barrymore, but also as a thank you to the men and women of the U.S. Military that risked their lives everyday so she'd have the free will to become a star. So when she found herself in the Cafeteria, instead of working through her extensive catalogue of go-to songs in order to chose the perfect one for her Julliard audition, Rachel knew something was wrong.

What that greasy haired little sicko said shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. Not the Finn part, since she wasn't about to carry anyone's litter—children came way later on Rachel Berry's yellow brick road to success—but everything else had.

Her heart had literally stopped when he screamed down the hall after her and what was worse was that right now, in the Cafeteria, she wasn't staring at Finn but at the sad eyes of Quinn Fabray. The popular blonde head cheerleader that had made her life hell since Law and Order went into network rotation, the girl that had everything Rachel wanted—the girl Rachel apparently wanted to help.

As she watched Finn blather on, not even noticing how utterly broken his girlfriend looked, it was scary how much her heart ached. Rachel couldn't really blame Finn, she supposed, since she hadn't noticed Quinn's demeanour until now either but it still left her with such a sinking, unfulfilled, feeling swirling in the pit of her stomach. Rachel knew that if the story hit the web, things would get ten times worse and in a cruel twist of fate, she, the girl Quinn pretty much despised, was the only one that could stop it.

Suddenly, her chocolate pudding didn't seem so appetizing anymore so Rachel just busied herself with stirring it with her spoon as she continued to stare at the destroyer of her appetite.

When two familiar uniforms blocked her vision of the power couple and proceeded to sit down in front of her in perfect synchronization, Rachel wondered if she should complement them or run in the other direction. All it took was the sight of red and her high school's abbreviation to remember the other problem she'd been avoiding all day.

Brittany and Santana—she should've known the Latina was behind the MySpace comment. Rachel looked around quickly, trying to prepare herself for the direction of the slushie shower she was about to receive, but as seconds ticked by the only difference was the level of annoyance that appeared on Santana's face. Brittany, as usual, looked like she was in another world altogether.

"Man Hands, didn't your parents teach you to be polite to people that are better than you?" When Rachel opened her mouth to respond, the cheerleader put up her hand to stop her. "Don't. I'd rather dig my eyes out with a plastic spoon than sit through your mind numbing drivel."

"I don't understand. If she had ten thousand spoons and only needed a knife, wouldn't she need a fork too?"

Both Rachel and Santana looked at Brittany, momentarily stunned to silence in an attempt to figure out what the girl was saying, before Santana shrugged and moved on like it didn't even happen.

When the cheerleader squared her shoulders, like she was getting ready for war, Rachel was sure this was it and no matter what their plan was, she knew she had to get a word in or she'd hate herself forever.

"Before you begin with whatever it was that possessed you to act nice to me for the first time since I've known you, I'd like to say that despite the circumstances and the reasons behind it, I still appreciated what you said. Though, I know I'm attractive, nobody else seems to realize it because even though my skirts are just as short as yours, they're not made in the Chinese sweat shop that Coach Sylvester out sources—"

"Berry, what the fuck are you talking about?" Santana finally interrupted and when even Brittany was looking at her like she was insane, Rachel realized she might've went a little too far. "I'm not, nor will I ever be, nice to you. You make me want to bash my head against a wall repetitively or grab you and shake you until you die of Shaken Baby Syndrome."

"Oh," Rachel said quietly. Clearly, she had misread the situation. Her mystery commenter was definitely not Santana and since Brittany never did anything without Santana knowing, it wasn't her either. But, Rachel was quick to recover. "So why are you here, exactly? Isn't it bad for your image to be seen with me in public?"

Santana growled quietly and when she started to mutter under her breath in Spanish, Rachel eyes widened fearfully. Thankfully, Brittany took this as her queue to return to the land of the living.

"S, is just angry that she drew the short straw. She thinks that Kurt did it on purpose because she insulted him for wearing a man-purse because he said something mean about you."

Rachel's eyes widened even further and she risked a glance at Santana who seemed to be frozen in place. She couldn't help but smile at the fact that the cheerleader had actually stuck up for her, even if she didn't want her to know about it, and Rachel decided to let it slide. Angering the only person outside of her family to ever do something nice for her seemed like the wrong thing to do in this situation.

"So you choose the short straw and that means you were sent here to…talk to me?"

Rachel made sure to look more at Brittany since she wasn't sure if direct eye contact with Santana would be safe at the moment. Surprisingly, it wasn't Brittany that answered her though.

"I'm here to tell you that Glee Club needs you back. Dumbasaurus over there can't carry a tune to save his life without you. He sounds like he's going through puberty all over again," the Latina murmured sarcastically while flinging her arm over her head in Finn's direction, "and Juno can't get through a song without puking. Mr. Schue has no backbone at all so Glee Club has turned into another lunch hour. I'll kill you if you repeat this to anyone, but without you, Glee Club is dead."

Rachel glanced over at Santana and the moment the girl adverted her eyes to somebody in the lunch line, Rachel knew it was true. She didn't think Glee would be in that much trouble without her, she really thought they'd be fine. But, they weren't and Santana was clearly telling her that they didn't just need her voice—they needed her as well.

"Don't worry, Rachel. You might dress like a granny stripper but I like you. I'll make sure everybody is nice to you."

Rachel risked a thankful smile at the blonde; still sure this was a dream of some sort. Out of all the people she thought that would come find her, the odd cheerleading duo in front of her were not on the list.

Brittany must have realized what Rachel was going to decide before she did because the tall blonde bounced out of her seat and dragged Santana up with her.

"Great, we'll see you at practice, Rachel!" she exclaimed brightly.

And as Rachel watched the two walk away with their pinkies linked, she wondered why she didn't have a recipe for 'I'm thankful' cookies because she really needed one now.

* * *

When school ended, Rachel stood in the darkest corridor she could find. Her arms were crossed and there was a revolted look on her face at the pure lust in Jacob Ben Israel's eyes as he ran his hands over the silky fabric she had just handed over to him.

"We had a deal. I fulfilled my end, now you fulfill yours."

His leer was leisurely as it trailed up her body, stopping at all the places she would never ever let him see, with her panties still clutched in his hand.

"It's only fair," he said breathlessly.

Rachel walked away, never feeling dirtier in all her life, and maybe the whole thing was supposed to have the irony of a really bad punch line. She lived for recognition, being appreciated, being known, and when she finally had that moment when she did something that would earn her everything she ever wanted—it would forever be a secret to everybody but the shadows of an abandoned hallway in William McKinley High School.

At least this would make for an interesting chapter in her tell all autobiography—this was definitely going to get her on Oprah one day.


	4. Chapter 4

Avoiding Finn was much harder than Rachel thought it was going to be. Truthfully, she really thought it would be easy—what with his large size and lack of lateral thinking to create a well drawn out search grid—but it wasn't. Finn Hudson had somehow found hidden talents for tracking her down from somewhere in the depths of his brain previously unused. She'd turn a corner and he'd be there, pouting and pleading with his eyes all damn day. Rachel had only escaped so far because her lower centre of gravity gave her the ability to disappear in a crowd.

But, time pretty much ran out for her when the final bell rang. She'd promised Brittany she'd return to Glee—a place Finn would undoubtedly be—and disappointing Brittany pretty much gave Santana free reign for open season on the unfortunate soul that happened to hurt Brittany's feelings. Not that Rachel planned to break her word, of course, as she did, after all, pride herself on living by a strict code of ethics and breaking your word was at the very top of the naughty list.

Taking a breath, she went through some quick breathing techniques, allowed herself to recognize how nervous she was, before wiping the slate clean just as quickly—Rachel Berry was ready and a little late.

Her strict code of ethics also included punctuality as well but really, it wasn't even in the top five so Rachel thought it would be okay to ignore just this once. The awkwardness of waiting for Mr. Schuester to arrive for practice and the fact she wasn't ready to talk to Finn yet seemed so much worse than not being on time.

Except, Glee wasn't anything like she expected. She walked in the room, maybe ten minutes after it had officially begun, and was stopped dead in her tracks. Sure, Rachel was impatient and a little bit selfish—it pretty much came with wanting things too much—but she never would've left if she knew it would be this bad.

They were in a circle, Finn standing in the middle, looking down at the sheet music in his hand, singing… _Nickelback_.

Rachel wasn't sure how a couple of middle aged Canadians appeared to have found a niche in singing small town USA anthems but the residents of Lima, Ohio—Rachel withstanding, of course—worshipped the ground the band walked on. Finn started singing the second verse to one of their songs—Rachel wasn't sure which one since they all sounded the same—until he saw her standing by the door.

His voice cracked and Rachel winced because the strangled sound reminded her of her fathers' duet of a _Beastie Boys_ song during the annual Berry karaoke night every second Friday of the month. Rest assured, she spent an hour cleansing their beloved karaoke machine until only appropriate music remained.

But when Finn looked so embarrassed—his face completely red in what she assumed was mortification at screwing up a song that required very little in ways vocal talent to sing— Rachel pasted a supportive smile on her face, hoping Finn would stop looking at her like she killed puppies in her spare time.

"Finn, that was a good try," Mr. Schue encouraged from his spot near the piano, "Work on it, okay? We'll move on to Mercedes' solo."

The girl in question struck her usual lack luster diva pose with her hand on her hip—Rachel made a mental note to give the girl some pointers later—but nobody was really paying attention to Mercedes at all. Even Kurt ignored her because everybody was looking at Rachel.

"Rachel!" Brittany yelled and she was bouncing over in the joyful way she had during lunch yesterday—a way that quite honestly scared Rachel a bit.

Brittany had always been nice, well nicer than the rest of the Cheerios, but she'd never been like this, around Rachel anyway. Rachel wondered if this was how the blonde was with her friends, but quickly dismissed it because Brittany definitely wouldn't think of her as anything close to that.

Brittany arrived at her side in seconds with a bright smile. Rachel quickly schooled her features when the blonde started pulling her closer to the group and the sarcastic comments Rachel expected, started to flow.

"Well, the prodigal one returns. Sorry, I didn't bake a cake," Kurt quipped with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed in the usual bitchy way he was known for.

Then Mercedes started in, which Rachel had been expecting too, since her and Kurt were kind of a package deal these days.

"Well, it looks like it's back to belting out one note while I'm overlooked again for another solo."

Kurt nodded and Rachel wondered how she hadn't seen how hurt they were by her solos before. Sure, she always thought they were jealous, she was a star and her voice surpassed everybody's in the room, but there was genuine hurt there under the bitchy attitude—Rachel was sure.

"Hey, Cookies, Cream, if you hadn't noticed nobody cares about your little sob story. If I wanted to hear people crying about being picked last in gym class, I'd go to gym class," Santana murmured with this dangerous glint in her eyes that pretty much told everybody within visual range that she could kill if cornered.

Rachel knew the Latina was doing it for Brittany, she could practically feel the rainbows and sunshine radiating off the girl that had a hold of her arm when Santana said the words, but it didn't matter all that much, since somebody was finally on her side—sort of.

"Yeah, it's good to have Rachel back," Finn exclaimed, sticking up for her a moment too late like he always seemed to do. "We can't do it without her."

She felt a bit stupid for not noticing it until he so blatantly betrayed her. Maybe, if she had known before, she wouldn't have made a fool of herself by agreeing to go out on a date with him. But, Rachel tried not to dwell on mistakes after she learned from them—it just made her feel worse and she didn't want to feel bad anymore.

Nobody said anything else after that. Quinn glared at her a couple times, probably because Finn couldn't keep his eyes off of her, but Mr. Schue was thankfully good enough on his feet to defuse the situation.

"It's good to have you back, Rachel," he smiled and he seemed so relieved that it made her feel even guiltier for leaving.

Clearly, the man was floundering—one would only pick _Nickelback_ as a last resort, after all. Rachel pledged to do her best to help him, even after all his attempts at sabotaging her career. He was trying his best and the group could be a bit…difficult. Everybody needed somebody behind them, right?

When it was clear the _Nickelback_ jam session was over, the group all wandered over to the chairs on the steps to sit down. Surprisingly, Brittany pulled her to the seat right beside hers and Santana only rolled her eyes once when she realized what the blonde had done. It was odd—Santana Lopez bowed down for nobody and yet Rachel was sitting with the Cheerios at Brittany's request without a word from Santana—it was intriguing to say the least.

"What's Man-Hands doing over here?" Quinn asked in her usual biting tone that Rachel was sadly used to by now.

She had forgotten about Quinn because with Quinn there was always a comment.

Santana turned to her left to respond—Quinn and Finn were seated on Santana's other side, closer to the wall—when Brittany beat her to it.

"Be nice, Quinn. I asked Rachel to come back and help us."

Quinn still looked agitated but she just mumbled something Rachel couldn't hear and turned her head away to look at the piano at the front of the room. Mr. Schue took that as his queue to jump in again.

"I think we need to do something fun," he began and clapped his hands like he was hi-fiving himself for his idea. "A competition. Boys vs. Girls. We'll do mash-ups!"

He said it so gleefully Rachel almost winced but she didn't because his idea actually had some merit

"What's a mash-up?" asked Puck, who surprisingly seemed interested in the answer.

Of course, Rachel knew what a mash-up was but she found herself not really feeling like answering. It was a little worrying, since she would've answered when she was a part of the Glee Club before—had Finn's betrayal really hurt her enough to change her personality so drastically? She was thinking about it when Mr. Schue answered.

"A mash-up is when you take two songs and mash them together to make an even richer explosion of musical expression." Puck nodded though it was clear he still didn't get it—or more why it was such a big deal. "Boys will perform on Tuesday and girls the next day. I want you guys to go all out, okay? Costumes, and choreography. Whoever wins the competition gets to choose the number we do for Sectionals."

Rachel couldn't help but smile a bit. Sectionals, it was always his motivator—they probably had at least twenty songs he said they were practicing for the three song set list at Sectionals.

That aside, she had to admit, it was a good idea—the club actually seemed to be into it. Brittany was bouncing in her seat saying something about choreography and Santana just looked at the blonde with this smile—it was so un-Santana like, almost affectionate.

"Will you help, Rachel?" Brittany asked, tugging on the arm she hadn't let go of yet to get her attention.

Rachel looked at the blonde, a little surprised she was being included, but Santana's glare pretty much made her mind up for her—not that Rachel wasn't going to say yes, anyway.

"Of course, Brittany," she promised with a slight nod.

The blonde's smile was so wide and even Santana looked somewhat pleased—though it was probably because Brittany was so happy and had nothing to do with Rachel because Santana did still roll her eyes in disgust right after. It comforted Rachel somewhat, since it was what she'd come to expect over the years.

This whole thing was just a little unnerving because while Brittany was nice, she'd never been this nice. The blonde had said her fair share of scathing things to Rachel since like the first grade, admittedly a lot less hurtful than the usual verbal attacks from everybody else though.

But, Rachel was going to go with it because it felt good to be included for once. Even if this turned out to be a big joke with a slushie shower ending, Rachel decided it was worth it.

* * *

Since seeing how sad Quinn was in the Cafeteria, Rachel couldn't help but watch her pseudo-nemesis. All things considered, she didn't hate Quinn and having an arch nemesis was even too melodramatic for a drama queen like Rachel Berry. Their relationship was one with so much pushing and pulling—though it was mostly Quinn, Rachel was just responding in self-defence— that she couldn't even remember why it started in the first place. Rachel came to look at it as just the way things were supposed to be, though it had definitely been hard to accept she could do nothing to change that fact.

The blonde hadn't been to Glee since the day Rachel had returned. It was unfortunate, since it was probably the worst thing Quinn could do. Rachel wasn't stupid—despite giving up her panties to Jacob Ben Israel, the babygate secret was going to come out—all she really did was buy some time. This was a small town, the population including one Sue Sylvester who had an almost unhealthy obsession with the lives of her squad of teenage girls. If Jacob didn't break the story, Coach Sylvester definitely would. Brittany and Santana were already talking about Quinn's cheerleading performance suffering yesterday in Glee. It was only a matter of time.

So that was why, Rachel decided to approach Quinn today. Instead of watching her like she usually did, she decided it was time to get proactive. All the watching over the last week or so made it exponentially obvious that Quinn didn't have the support system she needed. Clearly, nobody was going to say what needed to be said but Rachel would—in her own way, she kind of understood, probably better than anybody.

When Quinn arrived at her locker, Rachel made her move. She couldn't help but wonder how this would turn out, since it was the first time either of them had approached each other with the offer of an actual conversation.

"I haven't seen you at Glee rehearsals," she said softly, gearing up for whatever the blonde decided to say next.

Quinn turned to look at her and Rachel was almost encouraged when she didn't see the usual mocking look of superiority the blonde favoured during their previous meetings in the halls.

"I'm not, Superwoman. I know Glee is your whole life, but I have the Cheerios. I'm on Honour Roll. I have friends."

She said it in such a straightforward way that Rachel wasn't even really offended by the implied insults. It was actually honest and the small amount of the familiar superior attitude that seeped in was a little endearing in a way.

Rachel decided to respond to that and not the comment as a whole, even when Quinn decided to walk away, because Rachel knew exactly why she was doing it.

"You don't have to be embarrassed. No one at Glee is going to judge you," Rachel hoped it sounded as genuine as it was—she knew she sometimes came off condescending when she was so bluntly honest—and it must've because Quinn came back. "Look I know everyone expects us to be enemies and be in competition but I don't hate you."

"Why not? I've been awful to you."

It was a question Rachel had been expecting because she sometimes asked herself the very same thing. But, Quinn said it like it was the most insane thing she'd ever heard—it was almost like a challenge to prove it in a way—and Rachel Berry never backed down from a challenge.

"That was before you knew what it felt like to be me. An outsider. More people are going to start finding out about this and you're going to need friends that can relate."

She spoke from her heart, something she'd never done with Quinn before because it was just too dangerous. But, this time, Rachel had a feeling she'd be all right because Quinn was looking for something. She didn't know what, but the reason for the challenge was obvious—Quinn wanted Rachel to convince her; it just would've helped if she knew of what.

"How can you relate to what I'm going through?"

The disbelieving tone and the not-so subtle roll of the eyes didn't deter Rachel in the slightest. Quinn didn't think she understood? Well, she'd take great pleasure in explaining just why she did because this was the first honest conversation they'd ever had and Rachel wasn't going to ruin it by lying.

"You don't think people whisper about me in the lunchrooms or draw pornographic pictures of me on the bathroom walls?" she said with as much passion as she could.

She clutched her books tighter to stop herself from saying something about being debased by icy beverages everyday. It probably wouldn't go over well—that was hopefully a conversation for another time.

"That was me actually," the cheerleader admitted, breaking eye contact immediately.

The fact that Quinn found amusement in drawing pictures of her being violated by stick figures with a lot more sticks than necessary was, well, it was perplexing to say the least. At least Quinn looked somewhat ashamed of it so it was a little easier to brush off. Although, the fact that her big speech was coming up—the one Rachel rehearsed this morning in the mirror—was what ultimately made her decide to move on.

"Look, I don't agree with the choice you're making but you're going to need Glee. You have seven months of your youth left; you should enjoy it. And lets face it, in a couple of months that cheerleading uniform isn't going to fit and we're going to be all you have left."

Quinn looked completely heart-broken and Rachel almost considered stopping permanently instead of just catching her breath. She couldn't understand why being a cheerleader meant so much to the blonde—what with Coach Sylvester continuous mental and physical abuse, the crazy diets, never being able to wear normal clothes—it just didn't seem worth it. Of course, being a cheerleader made a person high school royalty and Rachel so badly wanted to be popular, she just didn't know if she'd go through all that day after day for the status.

Shaking her head, Rachel continued with the last of her speech.

"Just, come back to practice. Boys vs. girls, it's fun, and we could certainly use your voice right now. You're actually a good singer, Quinn, occasionally sharp, but that's just because you lack my years of training."

"I would've tortured you if the rolls were reversed, you know?" Quinn said simply, not apologetic for admitting it one bit.

Unfortunately, she did already know and Rachel realized this hurt a lot more than all the insults Quinn could've thrown at her. Rachel was used to them, she wasn't used to a honest comment of just how little she mattered in the life of Quinn Fabray.

But she smiled anyway and said, "I know"

Walking away felt cathartic somehow, like maybe it was a new start in an opposite direction. Rachel knew she was being naive and she knew she'd only get hurt from believing in Quinn, yet, she did it anyway. After all, she had a cheerleader stalking her now—there were definitely some type of odds in her favour.


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel watched the smile on Quinn's face disappear the moment Coach Sylvester opened her mouth. Somehow, it only took a couple words to bring the whole empire crashing down—what was worse was that the cheerleading coach actually looked…disappointed, maybe? Rachel wasn't sure.

When Mr. Schue ended Glee practice, Rachel found Jacob and got confirmation of what she already knew. The fact that Sue Sylvester actually made him release the story, while she acted so demure just minutes ago, confused Rachel momentarily until she heard Quinn sobbing from behind her.

Rachel turned around and for the first time, she actually wanted to cross the hall to violate the ten-foot buffer zone she'd been painstakingly maintaining between her and Finn Hudson for the last week or so. He looked so lost and his large hands were rubbing up and down Quinn's back, seemingly trying to rub the pain away or something equally as ridiculous. He was clearly inept at comforting a girl, when the problem was something of this magnitude, and all Rachel wanted to do was help.

But, she had no idea how. Quinn didn't even like her and going over there to force Finn to stop manhandling his girlfriend while she was crying into his chest wasn't something the cheerleader would exactly be receptive of. Basically, anything involving Rachel was something Quinn Fabray wouldn't be receptive of, at all.

Their little talk in the hall about how Rachel understood what it was like, well, it had done nothing to help their relationship—in some ways it might've made it worse. Quinn alternated between pretending she didn't exist or scathing remarks when they happened to cross paths and that wouldn't work anymore—at least before she had been at least a blip on the blonde's radar. She had been expecting it but that didn't make it any easier.

Sighing, Rachel dragged her feet away and down the hall to somewhere that didn't keep waving temptation in her face, humming the first tune that popped in her head to distract herself long enough to forget how badly her heart hurt at hearing Quinn's cries.

Sometimes she wondered why she cared so much, why the blonde's sad eyes seemed to leave her aching, and her heart would start beating so fast like she was approaching something monumental. She'd wait for the realization to come but it never did—she was left feeling like she ran a marathon in high heels with more questions than answers.

When Rachel finally stopped walking, she found herself outside of her car, then inside of it seconds later. Staring straight ahead, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, the song she'd been humming started to take the shape of something else entirely.

The entire Glee Club on the stage, dressed in white, telling Quinn to keep holding on. Rachel was singing lead and so was Finn—they were singing, looking into the sad hazel eyes of the blonde girl between them and Rachel wondered if Finn did this: told his girlfriend that they'd make it through.

Unfortunately, it didn't matter if he did or not. Quinn had no interest in being anything that gave Rachel the opportunity to worry about stuff like that. So, Rachel just wanted to go home—there was no point of staying any longer.

* * *

It took a day for the news of Quinn's situation to trickle down the high school grapevine and by the day after that everybody pretty much knew the golden boy was responsible for defiling Quinn Fabray's halo. But, watching Finn actually get slushied was a surreal experience. Rachel wouldn't have even noticed, or been in the hall at all—since that basically defeated the purpose of all the work she'd put in avoiding him—but Finn had been walking with Quinn and well, her irrational obsession with the blonde still hadn't gone away, yet.

Rachel believed that to be a healthy and well-adjusted human being, one must know one's mind, body and spirit completely, so she was well aware of her above average propensity to fixate on things far too much. Usually it was a specific task that needed to be completed before she could move on but sometimes it happened with people too, Finn probably being the most prominent example. It came with wanting things too much and while that quirk in her personality was excellent for schoolwork or attaining her dream of being a huge star, it often alienated her too.

But, this thing with Quinn was different because she had no idea what the heck she was supposed to do to make it stop. All the indecision didn't give her the opportunity to come on too strong, like she did with Finn, or make flow charts and a multimedia presentation of how she planned to resolve the problem. Rachel was just in limbo, learning far more about the blonde cheerleader than she really wanted to know.

Like how things with Finn weren't as great as the couple pretended they were or how Quinn hated apple juice but suffered through drinking it because she had a craving for it at lunch everyday. Or how Quinn only ever looked happy in Glee; her eyes would light up and the dull sadness, that had been plaguing her throughout the day, seemed to disappear from her hazel eyes.

And then there were the things Rachel noticed but really didn't understand. Like how every time Noah ventured too close, the blonde would wrap her arms protectively around her stomach. Or how her shoulders would tense whenever she heard his voice. Or all the times she caught Quinn and Noah in quiet but heated arguments in the halls that Noah would ultimately walk away from looking broken and dejected.

Rachel knew she should be worried—or at least outlining a twelve-step program on how to stop stalking Quinn Fabray before it was too late—but everyday she came to school and just fell into the same pattern as before.

When the girl in question disappeared down the hall, Rachel forced herself to stand from her slouched position against her locker. Making sure her heart rate was back to normal—seeing a slushie always made her heart pound unbelievably hard and sometimes she wished they'd all be blitz attacks so at least then she wouldn't have future cardiac problems to consider—and walked to Glee.

She arrived and took her seat quickly on the lowest level of the built-in bleachers in the Glee room. Rachel couldn't stop herself from watching Quinn wipe off Finn's face, wondering what it would be like to have someone care enough to do that for her, when Noah slid in beside her and gave her a smirk. She didn't say anything at all because he wouldn't try anything with her anyway, so there was no point in getting offended.

When Brittany walked in, the blonde waved at her so Rachel smiled back. Santana looked to be saying something important because she was trying to get the blonde's attention again by clasping her wrist and pulling slightly. So when Brittany motioned with her hand for Rachel to follow her up to the top of the bleachers to sit with them, Rachel shook her head with a small smile and stayed where she was.

Santana's eyes flickered to hers and she almost seemed grateful. But, the moment was gone because the cheerleaders sat down and Santana started talking to Brittany again, now with the blonde's full attention. Thankfully, Mr. Schue walked in before Rachel came to any more conclusions regarding Santana Lopez.

* * *

Sometimes Rachel forgot Mr. Schue was actually a teacher, since his judgment didn't always seem to include the maturity one would expect from a faculty advisor, but she always remembered when he gave them Spanish homework. Which was what she was trying to do right now, not that she was really that great at Spanish anyway, but she was good enough to be above the class average—her soon-to-be acceptance to all of the esteemed performing arts schools in New York was not in jeopardy and that was all that mattered. But, with all the recent changes in her life—and the mysteries she had yet to solve—she just couldn't seem to concentrate on anything else but that, least of all conjugating the verbs on her work sheet.

_Over the past week, Noah had given her a slushie, unabashedly and flawlessly played the cords for a Christina Aguilera song in her bedroom and serenaded her because she had said his lack of leading man ambition was the reason they couldn't make out. It was a little overwhelming—since this didn't happen to girls like her, no matter how much she wished it would—and Rachel realized pretty quickly that she really didn't know Noah Puckerman at all._

_Sure, he only wanted to be with her because she was a hot Jew his mother approved of, but that was okay because he liked her enough to try for her. Walking around on his arm made Rachel feel appreciated and maybe he didn't make her heart race or her palms sweat, but he was honest and sort of thoughtful when he wanted to be._

_Spending time with Noah was different than it was with Finn. With Finn, it had been so hard. The needing to explain things a certain way so he'd actually listen and not pretend to be or having to build up his self-confidence with an endless supply of compliments before he felt comfortable enough to talk to her. Then there were the mixed messages and Finn's total lack of common sense when it came to dealing with people, or maybe it was just her, since he saw no need to humiliate anybody else he talked to._

_Maybe Noah just had more experience dealing with girls because she never felt like that with him. They sang music, usually Noah would just play his guitar but Rachel didn't mind really. He got her to listen to harder rock—Metallica, Megadeth and a lot of other bands with overtly aggressive names—and he'd play acoustic versions so she could sing along. They still made out, of course, but Rachel liked to think that the boy that told her that she was sort of cool when she wasn't talking so fast was Noah, not Puck._

_Rachel enjoyed being around him, and as they spent more time together it became quite clear why they clicked. They were both lonely—she wanted somebody to love her and Noah, well, he was in love with Quinn. Since Rachel was now watching them both, or watching them watch each other, she wondered how she hadn't seen it before. Noah's longing glances in Glee or in the halls that Quinn would pointedly ignore. The way he sat up straighter when she came into the room, like he was watching her for any sign that today would be the day she'd want him. It was cute, in a way, and incredibly frustrating that somehow after all the things Quinn had done, she still had the two dreamiest guys in Lima at her beck and call._

_Only, for some reason, the blonde didn't seem to want the attention. In fact, Rachel was almost sure that whatever caused the cheerleader to stare at Noah, when she thought nobody was looking, wasn't love from Quinn's side at all._

_So as Rachel watched them making their way through another passive aggressive argument in the hall, she decided it was a mystery she couldn't ignore. Rachel was sort of an amateur detective, thanks to her sixth sense, and Lima didn't really offer much of a selection for invigorating whodunits like Nancy Drew's hometown did._

_She'd just have to make do with this—for now—because at the moment she needed something to solve to take her mind off the fact that she was failing miserably at figuring out her online stalker's identity._

And unfortunately, right now it was nine at night and Spanish homework came before sleuthing, or it was supposed to. All the thoughts of the anonymous cheerleader haunting her _MySpace_ page was making it increasingly difficult not to forgo Spanish for just a little longer. She hadn't had a chance to check her page all day, as her fathers were home tonight and her whole night had been pretty much booked by a Very Berry Extravaganza. Rachel really didn't mind though—she loved her dads and anything labeled an extravaganza was dramatic enough for her to get behind.

Rachel quickly gave in and was bounding towards her desk in seconds. Her screensaver—complete with a gold star that energetically bounced around the screen—was quickly wiped away and she couldn't help but smile when she found a message from her mystery commenter in her inbox.

So far her anonymous Internet vigil hadn't missed a video. It frustrated Rachel at first that they didn't seem to be as knowledgeable about music as she was, since none of their comments ever went any deeper than complimenting her voice or saying how much they loved the song. But, then sometimes the person would come back and post again; taking her breath away just like the first time they called her beautiful.

It was those times that Rachel tried to contact them back. She'd leave messages—public and private—but they were never answered. The person obviously wanted the contact between them to be on their terms and while it annoyed Rachel that she was basically being forced into an ultimatum of it will end if you don't comply, she really didn't want the comments to stop.

She'd tried something different than her usual videos last night, as she rarely deviated from anything that hadn't been made famous by the bright lights of the Broadway stage. She, of course, could handle any genre but show tunes just showcased her musical and theatrical talent far better than anything else.

Rachel had been missing her dads and _Feeling Good_ was the only song she wanted to sing. It wasn't a song or genre she particularly sang often but her Daddy Leroy and, his sister, Rachel's Aunt Robin were big fans of the song. They made her sing it—in an arrangement better suited for her voice, of course—every time her Auntie visited. Both of them followed her page too so Rachel had decided it was the perfect song to sing.

And as she clicked on the comment left by the mysterious cheerleader, Rachel realized that they thought so too.

_Gorgeous, I…I don't know what else to say…I'm sorry._

Rachel smiled at that, she'd never rendered anybody speechless before—well, type-less would probably be the correct description since they weren't really speaking—and the yearning to know who the person was on the other end of the breathtaking comments started up again.

Rachel often wondered what her commenter was getting out of this arrangement. While the rest of the Cheerios seemed to be getting off on insulting her, since segmenting themselves from her made their popular status all that more obvious, the one that had been talking to her definitely wasn't.

So that was why, even though she never wanted the comments to stop, Rachel knew that she wouldn't be able to be okay with the ultimatum for much longer. Never knowing who it was wasn't an option because this was the only person in her life—with the exception of maybe her Dads—that didn't seem to want anything from her.

They weren't like Finn, who only wanted her because she was convenient or because he just couldn't have her, like Kurt and Mercedes who only wanted the bright star that was her ticket out of this town or Quinn, who only seemed to want to blame her for all of her problems. Even Mr. Schue seemed to want the whole Glee Club to transport him back to his glory days. But, this wonderful person, an anonymous face in a nameless realm, just wanted the chance to watch the videos that Rachel would post anyway.

Except, deep down Rachel knew, there really was no way to figure out her commenter's identity. Their profile was blank and Rachel had already tried looking up all the other Cheerios and making a process of elimination list. Since Principal Figgins came back from that 'Cyber Bullying' seminar at the beginning of the year, announcing his war on cyber terror—that besmirched the righteous name of William McKinley for the last time—all the Cheerios' profiles had mysteriously gone completely blank. There was no way to distinguish one person from the pack and Rachel's sixth sense wasn't powerful enough yet to help.

So all the charts, diagrams and _PowerPoint_ presentations—since it did seem like it would be that type of problem—in the world wouldn't help her find the writer of the comments that warmed her heart and stole her breath more than anybody ever had. But, Rachel was a firm believer that anything was possible and she refused to give up hope completely that one day a solution would be waiting for her around the corner.

It was just a matter of figuring out which corner had the answers waiting for her around the bend.


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel was actually in a good mood today—as opposed to the moderately okay mood she'd been in since Finn used her—and with all things considered—burly dim-witted football players armed with slushies, just waiting for an opportunity to douse her with congealed corn syrup and ice—that was pretty incredible.

They were working on a new solo in Glee today and since her return it was the first real part up for grabs. Mr. Schue was notorious for making them practice the songs they'd already mastered because everything had to be picture perfect for Sectionals before he'd move on to something new.

And that was fine with Rachel, as they shared the same views on how important Sectionals was. Not only was it basically a make or break event for the Glee Club's future existence, it was also the moment Rachel had been waiting for all her life—the moment she could prove to everybody she was as good as she knew she was.

So, if this solo had even the remotest possibility of being the one included on the Sectionals set list, Rachel needed to make sure she was the one singing it and, truthfully, she just really wanted to sing something without Finn's hopeful eyes staring back at her.

Rachel was about to head to the Cafeteria for lunch, which was custom now, when her sixth sense started tingling and once she looked up it was hard to miss the slushie cup quickly making its way down the hall in the meaty hand of one of the many McKinley jocks. She'd forgotten her raincoat this morning on her bed and she really liked the new cashmere sweater she was wearing—a gift from her dads because they felt so horrible for working so much—so Rachel quickly slipped in to the auditorium before he spotted her.

Looking around briefly, she sat on one of the seats in the front row. It had been a while since she'd just sat in the audience looking up at the stage because, frankly, it wasn't where she was meant to be. Theatricality just ran through her veins and the stage was honestly the only place Rachel ever felt completely free. When she sang, she could share a part of herself with the world—wear her heart on her sleeve and not have to worry about maintaining the mask she wore constantly for self-preservation.

It was just so heavy, with all the protective layers she had needed to add over the years, just to make it through a school year still standing, and even though _The Phantom of the Opera_ was like Broadway royalty, there was really no upside to feeling like the famous titular character pretty much everyday of her life. So, the moment she stepped onto the stage and sang—when the mask fell to the ground with a clang and her voice took her away from everything it represented—it was what she lived for. It was how she knew this was what she was meant to do and why she'd stop at nothing until she was able to do it for the rest of her life. Her voice was, after all, what made her special—Rachel knew that—she just wanted somebody to think she was more than that too.

Shaking her head, Rachel realized her mood was rapidly declining and she needed to be on top of her game to win the solo in Glee after school. She fully expected for there to be some type of audition, now that Mercedes and Kurt had a taste for what it was like singing the lead while she was gone, and she intended on being ready. Rachel supposed she could continue last night's practice session right now, except the right amount of subsistence was also crucial to keep the energy level of her performance up—she didn't know what to do, except that she had a whole lunch hour to kill.

She'd been hit with enough slushies to notice the signs and the eagerness in which the giant in a Letterman jacket made his way down the hall was the beginning of a cold war—they wouldn't stop until all the lowest on the social hierarchy were covered in ice. Rachel was just hoping she could make it until tomorrow, so she'd at least have her raincoat, and to do that Rachel knew she'd have to spend lunch in the empty auditorium instead of staring at Quinn Fabray—it was probably for the best anyway.

She was pretty much days away from developing some sort of separation anxiety from the sad hazel eyes of a girl who couldn't stand her and Rachel had no idea how to stop it or why it was even happening. So yes, being stuck in the auditorium for lunch was definitely a good thing.

And after that horrifying admission, fruit snacks seemed like the next logical step. She'd packed them today instead of carrot sticks because of her good mood and it took no time at all to find them hidden away in the paper bag she'd put in her school bag this morning.

Rachel was struggling with the package when she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone crying. Her fumbling stopped immediately and she whirled around to look around the auditorium that she now knew wasn't totally empty. It didn't take her long to spot someone hidden by the shadows of the last row at the far left of the room.

With no way to tell who the person was, getting up to check on them could be dangerous but Rachel wasn't heartless. Pretending she didn't hear them while eating fruit snacks would definitely be within that realm though, not that she even had the package open yet. Suddenly decided, Rachel took a breath, picked up her bag and marched toward the person in determination—when she was actually close enough to realize who it was, Rachel was eternally grateful she decided to help.

"Brittany, what's wrong?" Rachel said softly before sliding into the seat next to her sort-of-friend over the past few weeks.

The tall Cheerio looked up, visibly startled by Rachel's voice, before looking down at her lap again when she realized who found her.

"Hi, Rachel," Brittany whispered, except when she looked up and tried to smile the smile Rachel had almost got used to seeing, it looked more like an awkward frown-smile hybrid than anything else.

Deciding to risk it, just because she'd never seen Brittany like this and she had no idea what to do, Rachel reached over and grasped the blonde's hand that was gripping the armrest between them.

"Hi," Rachel said with a small smile until she decided that maybe that wasn't clear enough to express what she wanted to say. "You can tell me, you know? Whatever it is. I know we're not really the type of friends that do this or anything else outside of Glee, but you're kind of the only friend I really have and I'm quite positive that being a shoulder to cry on in your time of need is in the friend handbook. Also I think offering to beat the culprit up that hurt you is—"

"You talk a lot, Rachel," Brittany interrupted quietly and Rachel's eyes widened because she was almost certain she said something wrong, except Brittany seemed to be smiling a little.

"Yes, well, I do that, when I'm nervous," she mumbled, looking away towards the stage in embarrassment, until Brittany suddenly started giggling uncontrollably.

If Rachel weren't so horrified by witnessing a clear symptom of an underlying Bipolar disorder within the blonde, she would've found it cute.

"So you're nervous all the time?" Brittany finally said, once she'd calmed down a little.

Rachel frowned momentarily until she realized Brittany was teasing her. The playfulness in the insult was clearly evident in the happiness on the cheerleader's face and Rachel was just relieved she looked like Brittany again.

"No, not all the time but you really only see me in Glee and I'm nervous there," she admitted reluctantly, her eyes shifting down.

She'd always been one to tell the truth. Rachel knew what lies had done to her fathers—growing up in Ohio and having to lie about such a big part of themselves just to appease ignorant people that just refused to see passed their narrow-mindedness—and her firm belief in being honest just made her admit something to Brittany, she'd hardly ever admitted to herself.

"Well, that's okay. Sometimes I'm nervous at Cheerio practice. Not just because Coach Sylvester is scary but I don't want to mess up. Dancing is the only thing I'm really good at and if I mess up then I won't be good at anything anymore."

Rachel looked over at Brittany, who was smiling encouragingly like she knew exactly what it was like, and she was completely floored. The blonde Cheerio had just been crying her eyes out and now she was comforting her—it was just amazing how big Brittany's heart seemed to be.

Rachel felt warm all over, just so thankful Brittany decided to be her friend and she wanted to be the best friend she could be back. She wanted to help but the blonde seemed back to normal—would upsetting Brittany again by asking why she was crying in the dark make her a bad friend? Rachel had no idea what to say, for once in her life, but she didn't want the silence to get awkward so she said the first thing to come to mind.

"Do you want some fruit snacks?"

Rachel held up the package, that was still in the hand that wasn't holding Brittany's, with a nervous smile on her face and when the blonde's eyes lit up as she nodded her head in excitement, Rachel felt like the best friend in the entire world.

* * *

Glee practice had been tense to say the least. Quinn was no longer a Cheerio and looked completely broken until either Puck or Finn tried to comfort her and then she just looked pissed off. Both guys still weren't over their fight in the hall over Artie—which everybody knew was over Quinn—so both of them trying to come to her aid didn't help things.

Except, Rachel knew that drama was coming, eventually, so she only really worried about Quinn and since she couldn't really do anything to help, since Quinn still refused to acknowledge she existed, it didn't matter anyway. But, Brittany's flat out refusal to look at Santana, well, that she could do something with because now she knew who made Brittany cry.

Of course, she'd first have to dodge Santana's accidental collisions with her wheelchair in the halls—stupid Mr. Schue and his need for extravagant teaching moments, though the use of props was admirable—because the Latina didn't really internalize anger very well and since Brittany was actually talking to Rachel, Santana was like a heat seeking missile out for misguided revenge.

It was the last attack that was the reason why she was stranded in the Glee room after everybody left, well, everybody but Finn. He'd finally caught her and Rachel momentarily thought about running out the door but she feared she wouldn't fully understand the lesson if she messed with its authenticity.

"Finn," she said evenly, before looking down and struggling to get the busted wheel on her chair to move.

"Here, let me help," he exclaimed quickly and a little too eager at the chance to fix her wheelchair.

Unfortunately, before she could say anything—like asking him if he was rushing to help her just because he thought this would make up for using her—he was out of his chair and bending his large body beside her to look at the wheel of her chair. She couldn't move, was stuck there unless she walked out, and maybe this was the lesson. Getting a plate full of Fettuccine Alfredo smeared into her face had been horrendous but feeling this helpless was ten times worse.

"You don't need to do this, Finn," she sighed, while absently running a hand through her hair in frustration, until he looked up at her.

"I know, but I want to. I mean…I like being your friend, Rachel and…if you'd just forgive me—"

She flew out of her chair—so much for authenticity—she'd just never been so angry before. Not even when she found out what he'd done to her, she just wanted to slap him again but she balled her fists at her sides instead.

"Do…do you…after all this time, do you even know why I'm mad at you? I thought I made it pretty clear, I mean, it seemed pretty obvious to me but then I saw the way you looked at me and it made me doubt it. Of course, then, I thought, how could he not understand because you tried to apologize and…you really don't know, do you?"

She was breathing hard—from anger and her lengthy monologue, maybe—and she knew her face was red. Finn just looked up at her, kneeling beside her wheelchair, with this look of fear that she'd only seen just before they sang _Push It_ in front of the entire school and he really didn't know. That knowledge effectively sent her into another tirade.

"I can't believe you don't get it! I know boys have a propensity to ignore their emotional responses in situations to appear stronger than they are, as they fear ridicule from their peers about their sexuality or a lack of testicular fortitude. So, I can see why it makes it extremely hard to empathize, especially with somebody of the opposite sex, but did you even think about how asking me out on a date would make me feel, when you had no intention of following through with honoring the symbolic gesture represented in the asking somebody on a date?"

Finn looked almost pained, his patented look when he was trying to figure something out, maybe something to say, so Rachel waited despite the almost overwhelming need she had to yell at him some more. She concentrated on her breathing techniques instead—Rachel felt like she was close to hyperventilating—she really needed to calm down.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Rach. I'm not good with this kind of stuff," he sighed, clearly frustrated with the situation.

Finn then walked to the risers and seemed to deflate onto one of the chairs that were still set up from Glee, with his arms cross on his lap. Rachel only hesitated briefly before going to sit down a couple chairs away from him. She smoothed out her skirt and tried to figure out what she wanted to say until she realized she already knew.

"When you asked me to go bowling with you, I was so excited Finn, which is still somewhat surprising to me because I don't usually voluntarily do things I'm not good at and my deep seeded fear of contracting gangrene from wearing community shoes was pretty much created with the idea of a bowling alley in mind. It wasn't just because I liked you but because, I thought, you wanted me. So when I found out that you only did it because you needed my voice, I was just hurt and humiliated that I actually believed somebody could like me for me. But, if you're willing to apologize for that, then I'm willing to work on forgiving you because I liked being your friend too…and I need an excellent feel good ending in my autobiography that will humanize my huge star persona for my future fans."

The bright smile on Finn's face was a relief, which was a little surprising. Rachel hadn't realized how all the sadness and resentment she'd been carrying around weighed her down. She was hoping that she interpreted the smile the right way because Rachel didn't think she could handle it if she fooled herself into believing in the best in him and he rejected her again.

"I'm sorry, Rach. I didn't really look at it from your point of view and I should have. I was just so scared about being a father, I still am and I thought I had no choice when I guess I did. I just wanted a light at the end of the tunnel, you know? I'm sorry, I used you to get it."

He looked so guilty with his shoulders slumped, like he was ashamed to appear taller, and that was when she knew she could forgive him. Not now, of course, she was still extremely hurt about the whole ordeal and she didn't want to pretend to forgive him like she did when everybody else insulted her. But, she was a little less angry and it was progress—that was something.

They sat in silence for a little while until he popped up to his feet and went back to work on her chair. A few minutes later, he was flinging it upward and smiling.

"You just had a bent pusher. Good as new," he exclaimed brightly with a small smile.

Rachel tentatively smiled back because after weeks of avoiding him this was still a little awkward. "Thanks, Finn."

She was about to say more when her current obsession came flying in the room like a woman possessed. Rachel's eyes widened as Quinn stalked towards them, blonde hair whipping side to side, looking as menacing as the face it was surrounding, and Rachel was instantly enthralled.

"We need to talk," Quinn all but growled at Finn and when Rachel's stomach flipped, in that very familiar way, she knew she needed to get out of there—this couldn't be happening.

"I'll get out of your way," Rachel said quickly; ready to abandon her wheelchair for the sake of getting out of there as fast as humanly possible.

"Nope, you stay, I need a witness," Quinn barked before turning back towards Finn. "Do you know what this is?"

The fact that the blonde just growled directly at her—and it was the first thing Quinn actually said to her in weeks—definitely wasn't helping things, if anything it made the flipping worse. How was it possible she was having this kind of reaction to Quinn Fabray? There was no mistaking what the stomach flips meant and the flush that started to spread across her body pretty much sealed the deal.

Rachel never labeled her sexuality; she didn't feel like she needed to. Attraction wasn't black and white, her fathers made sure she understood that, and Rachel did. But, why Quinn? The blonde was horrible to her—she was the reason Rachel's dads had a therapist for her on retainer since the seventh grade, when Quinn first called her Man Hands and dumped chocolate milk on her head—it just didn't make any sense, especially when she'd heard Quinn speak like this so many times already. Every time the blonde decided to insult her she used this tone and this reaction definitely never happened before.

Of course, it was the first time she was just an innocent bystander, witnessing Quinn Fabray in action, without some scathing remark being thrown her way. Maybe that made a difference, well, it already made a big difference the moment the blonde walked into the room.

Then there was the watching, the irrational need she had to want Quinn to notice her and the almost manic obsession she had with the blonde's eyes. That could really only be explained one way, after reacting to Quinn in a way she really didn't want to, and _Microsoft PowerPoint_ certainly wasn't going to solve this problem.

Maybe Miss Pillsbury had a pamphlet—the Bulimia one had been very informative.

Finn saying something about a past due notice, caught Rachel's attention—it must've been what Quinn was waving around in his face. Rachel briefly wondered why a witness was required for this conversation—it didn't really seem like something anybody needed to know except Finn—but then Quinn started speaking in that voice again so her thoughts were permanently derailed.

"Right. But, if this sonogram bill doesn't get paid, it isn't your phone that's going to get cut off, you, will, get cut off. You need to help me with this, Finn or else we're going to go our separate ways."

Then Quinn was leaving again and Finn muttered, "I'm screwed."

Rachel tore her eyes away from Quinn's retreating form and focused on Finn instead. The past due notice was clutched in his giant hand and he looked so resigned to losing everything. Despite her recent discovery that she had some type of attraction to Quinn Fabray—except was that really right when every time she looked at the blonde she just had this overwhelming need to hug her and make everything okay?

At any rate, her outlook was biased by whatever she was feeling—she still had to go through a vigorous and detailed analysis period to correctly identify the emotion that best served as a descriptor when thinking about it in the future—but this was that unmistakable opportunity to help she'd been hoping to get for the last couple weeks.

Rachel wasn't about to let it go to waste.

"Not necessarily," she exclaimed, with a slight mischievous smile, as she started mapping out a plan in her head.

* * *

_Defying Gravity_. It was her go to shower song and her ringtone—not to mention the song she played when she needed a reason to get out of bed in the morning—she was finally singing it for an audience.

Kurt was singing it too and it was a full on Diva-off, only it wasn't really because only Brittany, and maybe Finn, would vote for her no matter how great she sang. But, Rachel Berry was never one to back down, so she kept telling herself it was her solo to lose.

And she did lose it—in the eyes of Quinn Fabray.

She lost focus, her voice wavered—she wanted to believe it didn't happen but the surprise in the sad hazel eyes, she went out of her way to see, was enough to tell her it had.

It was an accident, the last thing Rachel wanted to do was look at Quinn right now, but it must've been an innate action learned over the past couple weeks.

As she sat down, trying to ignore the stunned faces around the room, Brittany leaned in to whisper that she was voting for her anyway and despite wanting to Rachel couldn't say anything back because she could still feel Quinn's eyes on her.

Holy mother of Streisand—she was so screwed.


	7. Chapter 7

For once, Rachel was the last to arrive to Glee practice, and climbing over Artie and an equally disgruntled Tina to get to the seat Brittany saved her on the highest riser wasn't even the most horrible thing she had to deal with today. Though if she wanted to be technical, which Rachel Berry most certainly did, horrible pretty much described her week thus far, so it wasn't all that surprising that pretty much getting to second base—with one of the most chaste couples in the history of the high school dating scene—hadn't even placed high enough for a ribbon.

Avoiding Quinn Fabray—after Rachel determined the girl was detrimental to her career to the point that she feared catastrophic life-long repercussions if she continued putting herself in the position to bask in the blonde's presence any longer—was about as treacherous as the day she went to the movie cabinet to retrieve her copy of _Funny Girl_ , for her daily—required to live—dose of Barbra, and had not found it between _Fiddler on the Roof_ and _Gone with the Wind_.

The only difference between the two situations was time because the pain of misplacing Barbra lasted an hour—until her Daddy told her he borrowed it and she painstakingly lectured him about the ethics involved in borrowing another person's property for another two—but the torture of evading Quinn was so far never ending.

What was worse was that Quinn didn't even make it hard—because the blonde was still pretending she didn't exist—it was all Rachel's fault that she was failing miserably. When she wasn't constantly chastising herself for thinking about what Quinn was doing or how she was, Rachel was trying to reason that thinking about where the blonde was made it easier to avoid her. Of course, when she found herself walking towards Quinn more times than away from her, it kind of made it too hard to rationalize anymore.

Then there were the dreams about sad hazel eyes that plagued her at night and Rachel spent the daytime wishing for her slightly selfish, singing with—insert famous Broadway star here—dreams to return. Unfortunately, by day two of her decision to ignore revelations that proved to be harmful to her career—and be just another thing to be mocked for—her dreams had started bleeding over into daylight as well. Daydreaming in some of her more boring subjects, usually Spanish, became a familiar thing by day three.

All Rachel wanted was for everything to go back to the way it was, but, obviously, after the past week, it wasn't happening. At least today was Friday—she needed the weekend to regroup and figure out another plan of attack because there was no way Rachel was going to live through another week like this one.

Brittany smiled at her and Rachel smiled back before turning to try to pay attention to another one of Mr. Schue's phonically planned Glee lessons. Today's word was: 'ballad' and like every other instance that practice was inspired by playing _Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe_ with a dictionary, Rachel wondered if they even had a chance under their current regime of clever life lessons designed to enlighten their minds and not improve their voices.

She really did admire Mr. Schuester's over-the-top enthusiasm and eternal optimism, though, but after numerous auditions for roles within the Lima Community Centre's theatre program, and the vast array of non-fictional literature she'd been able to obtain on the subject for her personal library, it was quite clear that anything involving show choir was not to be taken lightly. The competition was very real, despite any obvious preconceived advantage it may appear that New Directions had over their opposition, and they were nowhere close to being ready.

Rachel was seconds away from breaking out the devastatingly cute pout that she'd perfected the day her Daddy told her that the woman she saw in the grocery store wasn't Patti LuPone buying strawberries in a blonde wig and that Rachel could not go back and ask her to duet _Don't Cry For Me Argentina_ , while her Daddy filmed it with the camcorder that Rachel stored in the car in preparation for such instances as seeing an iconic Tony Award winning Broadway heroine buying fresh fruit in Lima, Ohio.

It would be a silent protest of sorts, against the current direction the practice was heading—since technically it was musically based and there was no standing to attack the lesson based on the demerits of unsuitable content—but Brittany's voice filtered through her fog of annoyance before she could put it in to action.

"It's a male duck."

Mr. Schuester looked confused and so was Rachel until Kurt wistfully sighed, "A ballad is a love song."

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes because a ballad was so much more than a love song. It was a narrative, a progression of feelings put to music—

"Sometimes, but they don't always express love. Ballads are stories set to music, which is why they are the perfect storm of self-expression. Stories and music are the way we express feelings that we can't get out any other way. Okay, now Sectionals are in a few weeks and there's a new rule this year, we have to perform a ballad," Mr. Schue said excitedly, gesturing wildly back at where he'd written 'ballad' on the write board.

Rachel already knew that, as her last attempt to secure the ballad for Sectionals was something banned from even the darkest corners of her mind. But, she was happy it was finally announced because that meant that Kurt wasn't getting the solo and she had every intention of making sure he never did.

"Looks like my weekly letter to the Ohio show choir committee finally paid off," she exclaimed happily, looking at Noah so she would be able to ignore the daggers Kurt was shooting at her, now that he realized the exact same thing she had.

Mr. Schue seemed to be momentarily stunned by her comment but quickly regained whatever equilibrium he'd had before. He clapped his hands excitedly and his gaze swept across each one of them before he smiled brightly.

"Okay, so here's our assignment. I want each of you to prepare a ballad to perform. Nobody is exempt so everybody be ready. We'll vote next week to decide which one should be sung at Sectionals."

Artie raised his hand and Mr. Schue nodded encouragingly like he always did every time somebody wanted to participate.

"Would you mind clarifying what kind of songs you want us to sing?" the boy said and Tina nodded in agreement beside him.

Mr. Schue looked thoughtful for a moment before he nodded and looked right at her. Rachel just knew that he was going to ask her to help him. His eyes got lighter and he smiled, just like he did in the hall before when he was going to beg her to come back to Glee. She supposed it would be good practice and if she left him to his own devices he might start rapping again, so she stood up and smiled.

"Why don't you let Mr. Schuester and I demonstrate," she said brightly while moving to walk down towards the piano. Thankfully Tina moved her chair a bit so she could get by this time. "Brad, _Endless Love_ in B Flat, please. It's my favourite duet."

"I really don't think that's an appropriate song, Rachel," Mr. Schue said quickly while his eyes darted around nervously.

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion because she was sure she had read the situation right, but maybe he didn't want her help after all.

"Why? It's a great song and a perfect ballad."

"Yeah, I really like that song, Mr. Shue," Finn piped up and since Rachel doubted Finn even knew the song, she was starting to suspect she was missing something. But, Brad started playing before she could think anymore about it.

As the song got going, Rachel got into character and moved around the piano, trying to give some movement to the performance. Unfortunately, she forgot that at some point, if she kept moving, she'd eventually be facing the audience and her eyes immediately sought out Quinn, who was leaning into Finn's arm and looking right at her.

Rachel could feel herself getting lost again, the sound of the piano started getting quieter and despite her mind screaming at her to look away; she just continued staring until Mr. Schue hit one of the high notes in the male vocal. Rachel's eyes darted up to his and she decided he had really nice eyes.

It was when she was walking back to her seat that she realized that she hadn't messed up because of Mr. Schue. He'd distracted her and saved her from another embarrassing ordeal to ban from her mind.

Maybe she didn't need the weekend to figure out a new plan of attack after all.

* * *

Rachel was hiding out in the auditorium again, only this time she was on the stage staring out into the empty room. Being on the stage just put everything into perspective and Rachel hadn't really had a chance to do that for the past week.

_Keeping Mr. Schue's attention had been harder work and a lot more expensive than she had originally anticipated. It took so much effort and almost all of her time—exactly what Rachel had wanted—because working with an uncooperative co-star was extremely difficult._

_She supposed it was sort of fitting that Mr. Schue was the one to reveal his previously undisclosed talent at being a successful diversion tactic from her unwanted feelings for Quinn Fabray and Rachel had been desperate to maintain that distraction, no matter what the cost._

_But, it quickly became apparent that he wasn't going to serve as her distraction forever, like she had originally hoped. He hadn't even worn the tie she had gotten him yet and there was no way he appreciated her casserole or his sparkling bathroom like his wife did. His mash-up was also hard to ignore, despite what she said at the time. In her defense, the singing and dancing did really muddle his message a bit—music had always been her number one erogenous zone—and objectively speaking, singing to a teenaged girl blind with an apparent crush wasn't the most prudent way to rebuff feelings of any kind._

_But, there was still time until Mr. Schue finally reached his breaking point and Rachel had intended to take full advantage. That was until Suzy Pepper cornered her in the bathroom. The girl had been following her all week. When Rachel hadn't actually seen her creepily peering at her from across the hall, her sixth sense had tingled like she was the next victim in a bad horror movie._

_Rachel had tried to argue her way out of it—she was as much a method actor as she was attached to any role she decided to take on—but the whole façade had come crashing down when the message got through: she only went after people who could never love her back._

Rachel really didn't want to think about how right that was. Not about Mr. Schue, because it was obviously doomed from the start, but Quinn was living proof of Pepper's rant's accuracy.

Quinn was horrible to her, berated her with insult after insult until some days Rachel just hated everything about herself. She was instrumental in putting Rachel's name on the very top of the 'to be slushied' list and if she was lucky, the blonde just forgot her name instead of ignoring her very existence all together.

Yet Rachel liked her, wanted her even.

Quinn Fabray—the once Christ Crusader that was pregnant with her boyfriend's child and founder of the name Man-Hands—was the epitome of someone that could never return her feelings and Rachel couldn't stop thinking about her.

And there was nothing she could do about it that didn't involve more relentless torture at the hands of her peers. More slushies, more demeaning nicknames—probably with a slightly more Sapphic connotation—and a lot of laughter at the expense of feelings she didn't even want.

So, like Rachel always did when she had no idea what to do, she focused on something that she did know how to fix. With Mr. Schuester ready to quit as her co-star and Pepper ruining everything else anyway, it seemed only fair to apologize to Mr. Schue properly. She knew what she was doing with her teacher was unhealthy—it wasn't fair to either of them and it was completely unprofessional—maybe she'd sing him something by Elton John.

She'd probably have to stop at the florist on the way home too. Her fathers were very adamant that flowers were the perfect neutral gift that worked for any occasion and while Rachel was pretty sure their over-exposure to gift giving in hospitals had warped their objectivity somewhat, it was the best idea she had.

A loud bang from somewhere behind her almost sent her flying face first onto the stage. She'd barely managed to grip the seat of her chair to keep herself upright. Whirling around, Rachel breathed out a sigh of relief when she was greeted by the familiar sight of Finn wrestling with a chair he'd tripped over.

"Hi, Finn," she said lightly, trying not to laugh when he looked so triumphant after detangling his limbs from the stool at his feet.

He looked up grinning sheepishly until his whole demeanor seemed to change in an instant. His shoulders slumped and he started walking towards her with a dejected look on his face.

Rachel wondered if she should ask him about whatever was obviously bothering him. He was always kind of touchy about that kind of stuff unless he was the one that brought it up. But, he had sought her out for some reason so he had to want something.

"Do you want to talk? I know we haven't talked about anything for a while but it doesn't mean I won't listen."

His large frame seemed to wilt into the chair set up across from hers. Somebody had left them in the middle of the stage facing each other; there was maybe four feet between them. Rachel imagined somebody from Glee Club had been getting help with their ballad earlier.

"Quinn's parents kicked her out. I told them about the baby at dinner last night…well sang to them about it," he mumbled, still looking down at his hands before suddenly he looked up with this bright sheen to his eyes that made Rachel a little nervous.

He was waiting for her to say something and while her first inclination was to yell at him for being insensitive to Quinn's situation—basically taking away whatever control the blonde had left in her life—Rachel managed to stop herself, just barely. Finn was her friend, not Quinn. She needed to support him.

"That was very brave of you, Finn," she said softly. "Are you okay with everything that happened? I mean, of course, Quinn being kicked out is horrible but you shouldn't feel responsible for the actions of her parents."

Finn was nodding, which Rachel took as a good sign that she said the right thing.

"It's good, I'm good. Everything's out in the open and it's better. It's just…she won't talk to me about it. I'm worried, you know?" he sighed, looking down at a part of the stage on his left.

Tentatively, Rachel reached out and touched the arm that he had sprawled across his lap, gripping it gently, before pulling away.

"Just give her time. It's a lot to process. If you keep pushing her, she might not come to you at all."

Finn was nodding again and they both sat in silence. Rachel couldn't imagine how devastated Quinn must be and she was so angry at two people she'd never even met because she firmly believed that no child should ever be kicked out of their home, especially for a mistake.

"Uh, guys." Tina was standing just behind the stool Finn had battled with earlier, looking extremely uncomfortable but still stutter-free like she'd been for the past couple weeks. "We got to go to the choir room."

Finn's face looked somewhat relieved and Rachel wondered if it was because the silence was broken or he'd finally talked through what was bothering him. Either way, Rachel was thankful for the interruption.

"Why?" the large boy asked, already standing up to his full giant-esque stature.

"We have something we want to give you and Quinn," Tina explained and Rachel just smiled encouragingly before following the two to the door.

Rachel wasn't really happy about it, this joint project between Tina and Mercedes. Mr. Schue was so taken with the idea that he had cancelled ballad auditions for Sectionals indefinitely and they should really be using any time they had to practice when they didn't even have a finalized set list.

But, it would be damaging to team morale if Rachel didn't support Finn and Quinn in their time of need, not to mention that it would fuel the ill-fated preconception that she was a selfish Diva that was impossible to work with and only cared about her next big solo. None of that was good with Sectionals coming up and, of course, more than anything, Rachel wanted to show her support for the blonde she was actively avoiding—and Finn, as well, since they were sort of friends again—but she just feared a relapse or worse a repeat of _Defying Gravity_ if she stayed too long.

Hopefully, Mercedes insisting on a song where she was lead—because she was just as much of a Diva as Rachel was despite the fact that nobody called her out on it—would help matters a little. Rachel wasn't very happy with swaying in the background like a prop but it made it easier to pretend she wasn't singing to Quinn.

Yes, _Lean On Me_ was the perfect song.

* * *

Rachel should've known that singing _Lean On Me_ would have repercussions. Not in the destroying her career sense—which, embarrassingly, she had Brittany to thank for hugging her at just the right time during the chorus—but Finn taking the lyrics literally and calling her two days later for help.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help him because she did. Sure, things were still awkward but he was trying so hard to make it up to her and she still cared about him. Rachel wasn't sure if they'd ever be in that place again, where she wanted him enough to seduce him with vocal lessons and virgin Cosmos. When she had convinced herself it was okay to kiss him while he was still with Quinn because Finn would see their connection transcended morale obligation and want to be with her. All she knew was that, right now, she wanted to be his friend.

And friends make sacrifices for their friends, or at least that was the conclusion she came to after consolidating all her research on how to be a good friend to Brittany. So, she was outside the Hudson residence—willingly putting herself face-to-face with Quinn, Finn's new houseguest—to teach him how to cook something healthy and suitable for a pregnant woman's dietary needs for dinner.

Rachel was a Vegan and not really all that comfortable in the kitchen unless she was making soup—which was just a lot of chopping and dumping things in a pot—but she was not about to let an innocent child be subjected to _Kraft Dinner_ for a fourth night in a row.

When Finn had told her that he'd been making _Kraft Dinner_ for the past couple days because his mother was working the night shift, Quinn, apparently, didn't know how to cook and he couldn't afford bringing home food from the new job she had gotten him at _Olive Garden_ anymore, Rachel literally ran to the pantry in her kitchen and started dumping food into a cardboard box.

She would not just sit by and allow such an inhumane act to go on any longer. In fact, with all the devitalizing chemicals and synthetic preservatives responsible for making _Kraft Dinner_ such an unnatural shade of orange, Rachel was just hoping that she had arrived soon enough to make sure he…she—Rachel didn't know and that kind of made her stomach churn a little—the baby wasn't born radioactive and glowing bright orange.

She started lugging the box of food out of the back seat of her car. Despite many meticulously designed Powerpoints, well documented arguments and a perfectly executed protest about the cruelty of animals in the kitchen, her fathers still enjoyed a life of eating helpless animals slaughtered to feed a completely superfluous demand for flesh made possible by the ignorance and lack of empathy for species lower on the food chain.

Unfortunately, they threatened to take away all of her twenty-eight copies of _Funny Girl_ —bought on _eBay_ in a haze of panic sometime during the hour she previously stated was beyond treacherous—if she didn't stop her campaign, and she was weak. But, Rachel supposed that it was helpful now, since she doubted Finn would eat anything without meat and Quinn probably needed the protein.

When she knocked on the door, Finn answered right away and eagerly took the box from her arms.

"Rach, glad you could make it!" he exclaimed brightly, before stepping aside to let her in.

"You didn't honestly think I wouldn't come when I heard how dire the situation really was?" she asked incredulously but Finn looked so crestfallen so she added, "And, I thought it best that we have a mutual interest outside of Glee to help in making positive strides in our friendship."

Finn nodded, before taking giant steps towards the kitchen. "Yeah, that's what I want to do too."

She followed after him hesitantly, since she'd never actually been there before. But, Rachel knew such things didn't really factor into Finn's mind and tried to focus on the task at hand. She only had the ride over there to go over the recipe she'd looked up online before she left. Lasagna seemed easy enough—it was just layering things in a dish—and it met all the necessary nutritional requirements that Quinn and her baby would need.

Rachel had almost convinced herself that this would go well, when the blonde, she really didn't want to see, appeared from the hallway directly in front of her. If Quinn was surprised to see her, she didn't show it, but Rachel came to a dead stop staring at her halfway between the kitchen and the front door.

"Treasure Trail, I think you have the wrong house," Quinn murmured dangerously, her eyes narrowing in that way that made Rachel swallow nervously. "No Broadway paraphernalia, gold stars and glitter here. That should've tipped you off right away, though I can't say I'm surprised. It was only a matter of time before you followed Finn home one day."

Rachel wasn't sure what she was going to say but she was offended enough to say something, until a giant presence appeared beside her and started talking before she could. "Rach's here to teach me to cook," Finn said excitedly. "You should help us too. It will be fun and I think you'll think it's fun."

Rachel was momentarily confused, while she tried decoding Finn's statement, so she didn't get to add that it would also be beneficial for the future when Rachel wasn't going to be around to memorize recipes off _Google_ and translate them into a formidable educational experience complete with a hands on demonstration for the more kinesthetically inclined learners.

Unfortunately, by the time she realized Quinn was leaving the blonde was already giving her customary parting shot. "I'll be downstairs. I'll lose whatever appetite I have watching Man-Hands manhandle the food so I doubt that will be fun, Finn."

Rachel found herself both deeply hurt by the comment and relieved that Quinn was walking away. She wasn't sure what she expected, since it couldn't have been much if this was the most they've spoke in each other's presence in a three weeks, but a little appreciation would've been nice. Of course, then Rachel remembered she was supposed to be doing this for Finn and when she looked up at him, he just looked so sad.

Quinn was just disappearing into the hallway she came when Rachel made a decision she'd probably regret later. She stepped forward, squared her shoulders and like always the words just came to her before she could stop them.

"Quinn, I know you don't necessarily like me, actually over the past couple years your actions have pretty much made it obvious that you hate me, but I don't think that should matter when it comes to your health. Despite the obvious and extremely geriatric stereotype you used to fill, I know you don't honestly believe that _Kraft Dinner_ is a suitable meal for someone in your situation. At the risk of sounding redundantly cliché, you're eating for two now and I'm not about to help either of you, that is you and Finn, since I can't very well expect that from an unborn child, if you refuse to help yourselves. So, you can either come to the kitchen with Finn and I and we can cook together or you can fend for yourself."

This was a dangerous game, bluffing Quinn Fabray, mostly because Rachel had never played Poker in her life, but Quinn was also the type of girl to punish a person severely if she figured out they were lying. Rachel had seen it many times over the years, especially with the Cheerios, and it was really no surprise, considering the joy the blonde got out of terrorizing her. But, Rachel wasn't just anyone and when Rachel picked a battle, she intended on winning it.

A stare down commenced, with Finn awkwardly teetering at her side like a cattail in the breeze, and she found his lack of valor completely unappealing. Rachel thought back to her dramatic declaration of adoration for Finn Hudson to the school's Mysophobic guidance councilor, only a couple months ago. Now, her and Finn were kind of friends and she had feelings for his pregnant girlfriend that she wished would go away.

She'd fallen for Finn because of his voice but she hadn't even heard Quinn sing, not really, just that half a verse of _Don't Stop Believin'_. It had been her eyes—was still her eyes—that Rachel wished she could just forget. Unfortunately, even in love Rachel zeroed in on one thing to obsess over and this was a part of her personality she didn't fully know how to control. Finn did something horrible to her and the obsession just fizzled out, but that was basically she and Quinn's entire relationship in a nutshell so obviously that wasn't going to work.

It wasn't fair. She didn't want to like a girl who absolutely despised her—who bullied her for almost half of her life—it just wasn't what she had planned. Quinn Fabray wasn't anywhere in her plans and Rachel was sure. She had, after all, painstakingly notarized them, in a notebook decorated with hand drawn gold stars, since her penmanship was legible enough to read.

"Fine, but keep your man hands away from me," Quinn snapped, glaring menacingly at her, before stomping toward the kitchen.

Rachel blinked, having been completely lost in her thoughts and pretty much forgetting where she was. She must've got caught up in Quinn's eyes once again; no, she knew she did. It felt like all the other times: time stopped, her thoughts got jumbled and her mind ran. At least it didn't end in embarrassment again.

"Come on, Finn," she sighed, reluctantly following where the blonde had disappeared to.

The kitchen was nice enough, kind of like her own at home, with lots of white tile and very little space. Quinn glaring at her from her spot in front of the stove didn't really help with the space issue all that much. At least, Finn looked happier or at least acted like he wanted to be there and Rachel tried her best to focus on the student that actually wanted to learn.

After unpacking the box of ingredients, she adopted her best stern but encouraging look, as Rachel had completely forgotten to dress for the role of teacher in her haste to rescue Baby Fabray. It was still salvageable, though, and Rachel straightened her posture ready to begin.

"As you might of already deduced from the ingredients I procured, I've chosen a simple but classic Italian-American meal for our first lesson. Rest assured, this recipe will meet both your dietary needs and as all the produce is organically grown, the pasta is whole grain and the meat is free-range, it will be easier to maximize the nutritional longevity of each ingredient. I've also taken into account the skill level required to cook such a meal and—"

"Berry, can we just get on with it," Quinn interrupted, clearly exasperated. "If I have to hear an entire monologue about every single thing you took out of that box, I'd much rather starve."

Rachel looked behind her at the blonde—who had her arms crossed over her chest with eyes tinted just dark enough to make Rachel's heart race—before she decided to just continue on like Quinn hadn't said anything. It was just easier to pretend she wasn't hurt at all by the comment. Rachel had learned a long time ago that it was the best way to deal with insults, at least until she was alone in her room and it was safe to cry.

"As I was saying," she went on, looking back towards Finn, who still seemed interested, "the skill level required to cook this meal is extremely low so I am quite confident that our first lesson will end satisfactory for all involved. We'll start with—"

"Wait, Rach, um…what are we making?" Finn asked and Rachel couldn't help but blatantly look at the Lasagna noodle box in front of him that was clearly labeled in big white block letters. "Lasagna, Finn. It is a popular Italian pasta casserole dish that consists of alternate layers of pasta, cheese and a sauce. Of course, for our purposes we are going to add a few things to make sure it is nutritionally sufficient for Quinn and the baby."

He was nodding and Rachel ran through the recipe she'd memorized before coming to a decision on where to start.

"We start with the sauce," she declared brightly and things just went down hill after that.

Thankfully the food was spared but Rachel herself sure wasn't. Because when Quinn wasn't snapping at her for some reason or another she was helping Finn, who, not surprisingly was the most horrible cook in the entire world.

And as Rachel kept watching, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if Quinn actually responded to her like a person, without insults or put-downs. If she would smile and eat all the cheese Rachel was grating just like she was doing with Finn. Actually, Rachel would be happy with the blonde just wanting to be around her without being guilt-tripped into it with the health of her baby.

But, at the rate things were going that was never going to happen because today was just like all the other days Rachel offered the blonde her friendship and it was thrown back in her face with some type of insulting remark.

She smiled when Quinn's nose scrunched up and she started shaking her head, refusing to cut the onions. That was when Rachel knew that nothing was ever going to be enough to stop her from caring about Quinn Fabray.

What hurt the most was realizing that she didn't belong there.

She never would.


	8. Chapter 8

At William McKinley High School nobody ever sought out Santana Lopez, the Latina found you. In Rachel's case, it was usually accompanied with an insult and an entire Big Gulp slushie cup being emptied onto her head, yet she was hoping that being the seeker this time around would warrant better, less messy, results.

Coming to a stop outside the cleverly labeled Cheerios locker room—complete with framed logo and a warning of immense pain and anguish to any mouth-breathing trespassers—Rachel inhaled deeply until her lungs were screaming for release.

Putting her hand up against the door, she squared her shoulders and pushed her way into the locker room. Whatever the consequences, Rachel needed to go in. She'd promised Brittany and she intended on fulfilling said promise no matter what the cost.

_Rachel found Brittany in the Cheerios locker room. The blonde just seemed to be sitting there, staring at a row of lockers—that Coach Sylvester had painted gold for only her best Cheerios to implement a class system that inspired an atmosphere of burning jealousy and ruthless competition—completely oblivious to anything else, including Rachel's arrival. Brittany had told Rachel to wait at her locker so they could walk to Glee together and naturally when she didn't show up, Rachel went looking._

_Finding the cheerleader wasn't the problem, it was seeing the forlorn look on the blonde's face that made Rachel's fists clench at her sides. It was just wrong for somebody so happy to look so sad. Brittany was her friend now—not that they really talked about it but it was the most logical conclusion drawn after endless hours of research—and she fully intended to do anything to get Brittany to smile again._

_"Brittany, what are you doing in here?" Rachel asked before sliding in next to her on the bench, much like she'd done in the auditorium. "We have Glee, remember?"_

_The blonde looked over at her and if she was surprised Rachel was there she didn't show it. Instead, she just shrugged and went back to staring at the lockers that sparked in a way that made Rachel wonder if it really was paint making them gold._

_"I don't think I'm going to go," the cheerleader whispered softly. "You should go, though."_

_Rachel ran her hands over the blue and white plaid of her skirt, trying to decide what to say because there was so much that could be said in response to that statement. Fortunately, the fact she was honest pretty much made the decision for her and for better or worse, she wasn't about to lie to a friend._

_"I know everybody's still mad at you for taping us for Coach Sylvester but that shouldn't stop you from going. Glee is meant to be fun and I can't think of anybody more belonging to be there than you. You're always happy, Brittany and I'm not mad at you," said Rachel, so earnestly that it almost bordered on desperate._

_The truth was that even though things had been a little better since her return to Glee, it was still very much the same. The scathing remarks, the eye rolling and general dislike were all still happening. It was just done a little more tactfully—when they thought Rachel wasn't around—so she wouldn't have a reason to leave again._

_Brittany was the only great thing about going to Glee these days. Kurt couldn't whisper to save his life and being stuck in a tiny music room with Quinn was pretty much like a time warp back to exactly how she felt in Finn's kitchen a week ago. So, if Brittany was thinking about not showing up to Glee practice, Rachel wanted to do everything in her power to change the cheerleader's mind._

_She just needed to know what she was dealing with first and maybe Brittany had a sixth sense too because she answered Rachel's silent question right away._

_"Santana broke up with me," the blonde sighed sadly, but saying it like it was the most normal thing in the world, which Rachel supposed, it kind of was._

_The two girls made it so obvious that it wasn't even worth gossiping about the on-and-off again—we do it for guys—relationship anymore. Even, Ben Jacob Israel didn't blog about Brittany and Santana any longer and Rachel would know because he made sure to give her the cliff notes of his blog every morning while she ran away from him in the halls._

_William McKinley was just used to seeing the two happy and in love one week and then things increasingly cooled off during the next. It was a cycle that happened without fail but Brittany had never looked so sad before._

_The blonde was still focusing almost unhealthily on the lockers and it kind of made Rachel nervous, if only because it was the exact same thing she did when she was trying not to cry. Rachel decided to start off with something neutral because she wasn't sure what actually happened. She refused to let her somewhat loose filter screw this up._

_"Oh, well, I'm sure if you talk to her she'll be open to dating once again."_

_Brittany shrugged. "We weren't dating. Sex isn't dating."_

_Pushing her shock aside at the knowledge of what Brittany and Santana did with one another—because it was one thing know about it happening, it was another thing all together to be told—Rachel tried to figure out what to say until things just came out in a jumbled mass of thoughts._

_"Um…I'm not sure that's how it works, Brittany. I mean, I know my experience on the subject is lacking, since I've never been in any sort of a relationship long enough to get to the step of sexual intercourse. I just think that taking that kind of step with another person requires the type of feelings created by getting to know each other in a courting period of sorts. Of course, I've heard of the friends with benefits relationship as well, which might more accurately describe your relationship with Santana based on what you've just said. Even then, though, it just seems like a bold faced lie in order to avoid the commitment of a relationship that undoubtedly happens anyway because the feelings had to already be there for the need for sex with the other person to be possible to begin with…" Rachel trailed off, barely stopping herself from launching into an in-depth analysis of the inevitable emotional attachment a sexual relationship created. "This isn't helping, is it?"_

_"No," Brittany said bluntly, shaking her head. "You talk faster than I can understand the big words."_

_Rachel visibly deflated; the comment was the pinprick to yet another relationship she seemed to have made up in her head. She just wanted a friend so badly and in retrospect believing a quiz she found in Cosmo about friendship probably wasn't the most formidable way to judge the nature of her relationship with someone._

_"Okay," she sighed because Rachel felt like she needed to say something to alleviate how nervous she was for the next part. She'd been through the rejection so many times; Rachel wondered if she'd ever truly be prepared._

_Brittany looked over again, her face morphed into this adorably confused look—all wide eyes and slanted eyebrows—before she frowned. "You look sad. Why are you sad?"_

_Rachel was surprised by the question but any prompting to talk was like a green light for her thoughts to tumble out of her mouth in an attempt to ease her nerves once again._

_"I'm not sad…well, I am saddened by my inability to help you when you are so sad. Maybe I just don't understand the circumstances because I'm almost positive with more information I could offer more effective advice for the situation at hand," Rachel finished in a stream of breaths and anxiety, complete with wringing her hands in her lap._

_Brittany's face scrunched up in what could only be intense concentration before the facial strain lessened to one of triumphant accomplishment and she said, "Are you asking me why, S broke up with me?"_

_"Yes," Rachel agreed with a sharp nod, deciding that Brittany's analysis of her ramble was ultimately close enough to her original thoughts._

_The cheerleader started nodding too and Rachel had no idea what to make of the almost unconscious action that seemed to help the blonde work through whatever she was thinking about. Finally all movement stopped abruptly and Brittany's eyes were now looking directly into Rachel's until they sporadically looked back towards the lockers seconds later._

_"Q is gone now and since she named, S second in command while she was there that means, S is on top now," Brittany said quietly._

_Rachel really didn't know where to start to begin to understand the hierarchy of the Cheerios, so maybe that was why she didn't fully comprehend why that meant an end to Brittany and Santana. Surely, somebody like Santana Lopez wouldn't care, regardless of what was keeping her apart from Brittany._

_"I'm not sure I understand, Brittany. Why would that matter? I mean, certainly, you can be friends even if you're not entangled romantically."_

_The blonde girl shrugged half-heartedly and Rachel's heart clenched at the clear helplessness illustrated in such an action. It was a blatant sign that she'd failed as a friend to Brittany long before today. Rachel let herself get distracted by the unfortunate situation she found herself in with Quinn—also by extension Mr. Schue—and she'd selfishly pushed Brittany's problems to the wayside until they got bad enough that the blonde was staring brokenly at a locker door._

_"S, wants to get out of here. Her whole family is counting on her to be better than they are, and everyone knows that the head Cheerio gets into the best schools. When you're on top being with me is against the rules and I said we couldn't be friends because it hurts too much this time," Brittany mumbled softly before turning her head so her face wasn't visible to Rachel at all._

_It was abundantly clear Brittany had lost her battle with her emotions so there was no use questioning her any further. Rachel knew the blonde probably wouldn't want water like she would've—not that she had some anyway—so she reached down and grasped the lanky girl's hand again._

_"Don't worry, Brittany. I'm going to talk to, Santana. Everything will be fine again, I'll make sure of it," Rachel promised and was completely surprised when she was engulfed in the cheerleader's arms in their first ever hug as friends._

_Rachel was thrilled until she realized her sweater was uncomfortably wet right where Brittany's face was buried into her shoulder._

Remembering her last experience in this particular room only served to strengthen Rachel's resolve. Sure Santana was intimidating—kind of like getting the courage to pet a Pit-bull—but as she said before: when Rachel Berry picked a battle, she fully intended on winning it.

The Latina stood drinking from a plastic bottle, leaning against the locker Brittany had been staring at yesterday. She looked exactly the same as she did in English before a stuttering Ben Jacob Israel had tumbled into the room and told the Cheerios Coach Sylvester was calling a surprise weigh in. It was amazing the amount of pure panic and chaos the cheerleading coach could summon without even being present. Girls were colliding left and right with fearful looks, trying desperately to get out of the classroom so they wouldn't be late. Santana had confidently sauntered out after the stampede, while Quinn looked on wistfully from her spot in the back next to Finn.

"RuPaul," Santana growled, breaking Rachel from her thoughts. "This is the girl's locker room and I'm not very sorry to say that no amount of dressing up in nauseating clothes and covering your stubble with make-up is going to change the fact that you just don't belong in here."

Rachel did her best to roll her eyes and put up a united front. She wouldn't let Santana scare her off, not this time.

"Santana, clearly I'm not a man. I never understood why you think you're so clever when my hands are far from manly and, while RuPaul is admittedly beautiful in her own right; I look nothing like her," Rachel huffed, crossing her arms in a tiny but powerful pose for irritation.

It was then that Rachel flashed back to what Santana had said about Shaken Baby Syndrome a month or so ago in the Cafeteria and the smaller brunette unconsciously prepared for an oncoming assault. Santana just looked mildly annoyed as she watched Rachel bristle like a disgruntled Chihuahua before rolling her eyes.

"Well, you've obviously never seen a picture of RuPaul because, Berry, there are similarities. As for your man hands, well, that was all Q so you can start squawking on your soap box in front of her if you have any complaints."

Rachel's expression changed in an instant to one of intense concentration and when her eyes brightened in curiosity, Santana looked even more infuriated.

"What about, Treasure Trail?" Rachel asked suddenly. "I've always wondered what it meant. I mean, I know intellectually what a Treasure Trail is so I suppose it also alludes to your irrational belief that I'm a man. It's just, I don't understand what the purpose of—"

"Berry," Santana interjected in a tone that could melt the polar icecaps if in close enough proximity. "One more word and I'll be implementing the immense pain and anguish punishment the sign warned you about on the door. Starting with the demise of that giant Streisand poster you have taped up in your locker and ending with the burning of all the hideous in your wardrobe, just because it'll make me happy."

Rachel was mildly disturbed by how gleeful Santana really looked at the chance of fulfilling said promised punishment; yet, she quickly pushed it aside. She wouldn't be intimidated and she'd been distracted from her original reason for finding Santana long enough.

"Fine, I will helpfully withdraw my question in order to further the conversation along to the matter at hand," Rachel said primly with a slight nod. "I'm here to talk about, Brittany and how you're upsetting her with this forced separation. While I admire ambition—"

There was a loud bang and Rachel was so startled that she didn't clue in that it was her body colliding with the lockers until Santana moved closer to tower over her.

"It's none of your business, Berry," Santana growled and for the first time Rachel decided the Latina looked truly menacing. "Stay the fuck out of it."

Rachel swallowed, looking up into the almost black eyes of her attacker and tried to figure out her next move. With all things considered—being trapped in a secluded place between a wall of metal and an angry Santana Lopez—Rachel didn't have many options. She was well versed in all the various self-defence classes available at the _YMCA_ —it was the only after school activity her fathers ever forced her to participate in—but Rachel didn't relish the task of hurting a girl who was clearly already hurting herself. Her rape whistle sounded promising, except then Coach Sylvester would know that a mouth-breather was trespassing and it was unfortunately buried in her backpack on the bench anyway. It seemed that, like always, Rachel was going to have to rely on her gift for the gab. She was fairly certain she could talk her way out of this…hopefully.

"While I'm thankful that you decided not to assault my face, my nose in particular, I must insist you unhand me this instant. This position is highly inappropriate and I do not appreciate you using violence of any kind as an intimidation tactic. I assure you that I'm only here to figure out a course of action that is better for Brittany because I'm sure you are aware that she is not doing well with the current circumstances as they stand. Beyond that, your relationship is none of my concern," Rachel babbled with wide genuine eyes and a half smile that had unfortunately been stalled by fear.

It took a few more seconds until Santana stepped back and Rachel eagerly put two feet and the locker room bench between them.

Santana rolled her eyes. "No need to scurry away, RuPaul. This conversation is over anyway."

The Latina looked at her with this odd, almost conflicted quality to her eyes, before she turned and started walking towards the door. Rachel was surprised because she was sure she had her, or at least had earned some sort of explanation. Squaring her shoulders again, she decided she'd just have to try harder.

"Santana, I know you don't really like me but I know you care about, Brittany. I'm not sure about the circumstances, just the very little of what Brittany was able to tell me, but I believe some type of compromise can be obtained, if you'd just—"

"You can't help, Berry," Santana snarled, whirling around with an even more depraved look in her eyes than minutes before when she had pushed Rachel into the lockers. "Don't you think I would've thought of a solution by now if there was one? It's not like I enjoy watching Brittany's social status plummet with every second this whole thing has forced her into spending with you. Just stay out of it."

Rachel watched as the conflicted feelings started bleeding out onto the Latina's face—her dark eyes got just a little bit more glossy and the cheerleader's jaw was clenched in an extremely awkward position—and it was interesting because Rachel hadn't seen such emotion from Santana, since Brittany broke her arm falling from the swings in grade two. It made it easier to ignore the insult because Rachel assumed it was what Santana fell back on as a defense mechanism, just like how she used excessive amounts of fancy rhetoric.

Taking a breath, Rachel geared up for her closing remarks because she wasn't quite sure how long she'd have until Santana left completely. While it was a little difficult to put herself out there, especially in front of Santana Lopez, she wasn't about to fail Brittany again. She'd just have to risk it because Rachel felt like it was worth it to help two people that were clearly better together than apart.

Straightening up, and ignoring the slight pain that radiated from her shoulder where it had landed awkwardly against the metal of the locker, Rachel began her speech. "I know you have certain expectations you need to live up to, and though Brittany was quite brief with the details, I'm assuming they directly conflict with the ones that Brittany has come to expect out of you as well. Not that I really understand your situation, because I don't, but I urge you to reconsider your stance on the matter. As somebody who knows what it is like to have no friends at all, I'm confident when I say that if you let this continue, you'll regret it."

Santana seemed to be stuck between thinking it over and complete surprise she'd been called out on the matter. Rachel couldn't help the self-satisfied smile that appeared on her face because she was proud of herself for being brave enough to follow through on her promise to Brittany. That, of course, was her mistake because Santana's face changed to one of extreme irritation before she crossed her arms over her chest in a familiar menacing stance.

"Whatever, Berry. All I heard in that was you sobbing about being a social pariah and how much you wish your grating personality and manly looks didn't have people running in the opposite direction after two seconds spent in your presence."

Rachel tried her best not to be hurt by the comment, because she knew Santana was just attacking her again to mask her own insecurities, but she still was. Rachel had offered something personal in hopes that Santana would see she was serious about helping her and it just made the comment a little bit too much to brush off.

But, as usual, she just hid behind her mask of indifference as best she could because showing any weakness in front of Santana was like a gaping open wound in a pool full of sharks. Rachel just needed to get out of there and it didn't take her long to find a reason to do so.

"Well, I'm sure you'll come to an intelligent decision regarding your situation on your own then because we have a performance to watch. It is proper craft to arrive early as respect for one's competition and as I still have a trip to my locker to complete, I'm already five minutes behind schedule," Rachel said calmly while leaning over to grasp one of the arms of her backpack. "I do hope that you consider all I've said and not let what you think of me cloud the astute message behind my advice. I really do only want to help, so if you ever decide to accept it, you know where to find me."

And then she walked away, her unhappiness at the mixed results churning within her stomach, but if Rachel stayed any longer all of her hard work would've been erased. She just needed to give it time, regroup and come at Santana again if things weren't resolved like she wanted them to be.

* * *

Like with Brittany, keeping up with her Internet vigil had been pushed to the backburner in lieu of Quinn Fabray. Rachel hadn't taped a _MySpace_ video in weeks; she still posted them—honestly she had enough videos of her singing on her hard drive to go a year without unpacking her camera again—but she obviously hadn't given the venture the attention it deserved.

So, she planned on filming a new video tonight, possibly something from _Avenue Q_ , because a theatrical challenge always made her feel like she was making up for breaking her commitments. Unfortunately, she didn't have the time to plan it out until later. Kurt was coming over to give her the makeover that she'd reluctantly agreed to after he threatened to light her pantsuit on fire with her inside it if he had to witness such a crime against humanity any longer.

Rachel didn't necessarily think her pantsuit was that bad—it was an essential piece of the young professional's wardrobe—but she did want to be his friend. The extensive research she had done on friendship suggested finding a common interest to share with any potential 'bestie' and Rachel supposed that anything Kurt likened to crack was a good place to start.

With little time to spare, Rachel just skimmed through all her _MySpace_ messages she had yet to read, most of them being the usual Cheerio insults. She was surprised to see one from Finn but it was just a smiley face made out of a colon and a parenthesis so it didn't really require a stop to her scrolling down the page. It was then that she found what she was looking for: her anonymous cheerleader's comments, except, much to her disappointment, there was only one.

_You'll be a star one-day. I know it._

The comment was on a video she posted two weeks ago and Rachel wasn't prepared for the wave of sadness that followed her realization. Irrational thoughts of blaming herself started swirling in her head because they'd never missed a video before. Yet, the moment she shifted her focus from them; they seemed to decide to shift their focus off of her.

Rachel didn't know what to do but she wanted them back desperately. Their beautifully encouraging words meant so much to her and she stupidly forgot all about them in favour of a girl who used words to tear her down. She didn't mean it; she didn't—

"Wow, it's disconcerting that this is exactly what I expected," Kurt exclaimed in a tone of equal parts amazement and disgust as he glanced around her room.

Rachel slammed her laptop shut and spun around to watch the boy heave a small suitcase onto her bed. She quickly moved to her vanity, just as Kurt sat at the end of her bed in front of his suitcase.

"You brought a suitcase?" she questioned cautiously, eyeing what she could see of the luggage behind him.

The boy shrugged nonchalantly and crossed his legs so he could settle his immaculately manicured hands clasped on his knee.

"I bring it to every makeover, I've ever been tasked to do. Of course, in your case I did double stock it, just in case," he explained, before standing up and walking the two steps it took to be able to grab her face in his hands. "Yes, I see we're going to have to start with the basics."

Rachel was extremely overwhelmed and started asking questions without realizing it. "Basics? What exactly does that mean?"

Kurt quickly released her and walked over to his suitcase. He flipped it open and started rummaging through whatever items he had in there with a look of deep concentration, she'd never seen in him before.

"Eyebrows are important, they shape your face," he murmured into the case. "The key is to never wax above the eyebrow, always shape from below. Trust me, I get a lot of practice. Look at mine."

He stood up, standing still to give her a chance to take in his eyebrows, before he started walking over to her with his hands full. Rachel wasn't sure what to expect, she knew her eyebrows weren't as horrible as he was making them out to be and she couldn't help feeling like Kurt felt burdened by being there. It wouldn't exactly be great for the plans of friendship she had when agreeing to this and with Kurt Hummel there was always an ulterior motive. If he didn't want to be there, he must be getting something else out of it that she wasn't aware of and Rachel felt they needed complete transparency before the makeover carried on any further.

"Kurt, why did you volunteer to give me a new look?" she blurted out and he stopped mixing whatever he had brought with him to look at her curiously. "It's just, we're not really friends, half the time you act repulsed by me, so I was kind of wondering why you're here."

Kurt slowly dropped what he was doing and moved to sit back on the edge of the bed in front of her, smiling wistfully.

"One, I'm a sucker for makeovers and two, you need something to distract from your horrible personality. Most of the time, I find it hard to be in the same room with you, especially this one, which looks like where _Strawberry Shortcake_ and _Holly Hobbie_ come to hook up," he explained, while looking around in bewilderment. "You're extremely talented, Rachel. Watching you perform is amazing but sometimes it's hard to appreciate what a good singer you are because all I'm thinking about is shoving a sock into your mouth."

She was actually completely surprised at how genuinely he seemed to answer the question. Sure, it was just as catty and judgmental as he usually was, but he had complimented her, well, her voice. Still, her voice was a part of her and as much as she yearned for somebody to like more than that about her, Rachel knew that person would unfortunately never be Kurt.

"So, it was the pantsuit that made you decide to approach me today about a makeover?"

She watched Kurt hesitate briefly before he leaned in and smiled in the conspiring way she'd seen him do quite frequently with Mercedes. "Actually, Quinn asked me to do it, which was quite surprising, considering it's the first time she had ever acknowledged my existence."

"Quinn?" Rachel said softly, ignoring the sharp prang in her heart at the revelation.

"Yes, I'm curious as to why she asked, especially when she told me she was worried about you're horrible fashion sense being a distraction for Sectionals. I whole-heartedly agree, of course, but everybody knows, I'm in charge of hair, makeup and by extension wardrobe. I'd sooner let Sue Sylvester shave my head than allow you anywhere near the stage dressed like a sexually promiscuous schoolmarm," Kurt finished, quite primly with the implied question about Quinn's motives left hanging between them.

And, Rachel would've answered his question if she thought that there was anything more behind Quinn's motives than hating her. It was quite clear after her torturous time at Finn's home that the blonde really did despise her. Rachel had to guilt her into sharing a room with her—there was no way anybody could misinterpret the intent behind that. Shaking her head, Rachel tried her best to forget that day and focus on something else.

"Well, what kind of makeover did you have in mind?" she asked, watching as Kurt quickly bounced up and gripped her shoulders to spin her around so they were both looking in the mirror.

"We need to broaden your appeal," he exclaimed knowingly. "I want every boy at school to do a double take every time you strut past."

Rachel just barely stopped herself from telling him that she really didn't want any boy to notice her at all. Finn had been a complete disaster, Puck didn't even want to be her friend after their quasi-relationship and the rest of the boys she came into contact with either slushied her or had been stalking her since the fifth grade. Then, of course, there were her feelings for Quinn that she just wanted to go away and boys noticing her would only add to the problem—Mr. Schue could attest to that.

Still there was a part of her that wanted to dress up and show everybody what they were missing. It felt a little bit like pride and a lot like revenge; feeling good about herself wouldn't be so bad. What did she have to lose really? The shock of her outfit would be the only chance she had to get the person her heart wanted to notice her anyway.

"Well, there is really only one person that I'd like to impress," she said softly.

It was then that Rachel realized Kurt would be expecting a name. When the boy backed up and sat back on the bed, she could see him staring at her expectantly in the mirror.

She reluctantly turned around when he said, "Who's the lucky boy?"

Maybe telling him would be for the best. Trusting him would undoubtedly be a positive step forward in her plans of friendship. It would be nice to have somebody to talk to about these feelings that just kind of snuck up on her and wouldn't go away no matter how hard she tried. Who better to understand her plight than the resident gay boy at McKinley that was head over heels for Finn?

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked hesitantly and the almost gleeful look that passed across his face at a juicy bit of gossip was unfortunately, the answer.

But, he attempted to dispute it anyway, which kind of only made her feel worse.

"Of course," he promised with a slight nod and she knew she had to lie.

If Quinn's name passed her lips, the whole school would know by tomorrow and no matter how much honesty meant to her, self-preservation at that moment was more important.

"I'm in love with, Finn," Rachel said quietly, knowing it would be the only name he'd believe.

Maybe before she would've been so desperate for a confidant that she'd share her secrets and bare her soul to anybody willing to listen. But, Finn had changed all that the moment he showed her how much it hurt when people you trusted let you down.

She'd never love Finn, at least not like she did, and Quinn, well, maybe if they could make it through a day without insults and stick-figured pornography being drawn on bathroom walls, Rachel would be willing to admit just how serious this little crush was turning out to be.

* * *

In different colour t-shirts, sitting on stools in the auditorium, they were kind of like a mismatched kaleidoscope and to even further the metaphor they were singing _True Colors_ as well. For all his grand ideas, Mr. Schue really was quite literal with his choreography or lack there of.

Somehow, though, after living through a mash-up of _Beyonce_ and a song from the acclaimed musical, _Hair_ to quell Mr. Schue's feelings of inadequacy when faced with their competition, their teacher finally hit the mark.

They were great because they didn't hide who they were and Tina's voice—without Mercedes' runs or Rachel's bravado—really highlighted that. It was a heartwarming moment at first glance but Rachel was beginning to realize that things rarely were like that underneath.

Look a little longer and it was easy to notice the stares. Noah kept gazing wistfully at Quinn while the blonde spent her time just looking sad, almost resigned to the fact that it wouldn't go away. Sometimes she'd look up, looking at both Finn and Noah before looking back down when her eyes met Santana's. When the Latina wasn't glaring at Noah and Quinn, she was looking almost thoughtfully at Brittany. Really, Finn was the only one looking happy, as he stared at Quinn with big starry eyes.

Rachel wasn't sure where Santana fit into the love triangle going on there, even if one side was too oblivious to know. It was a little disheartening to see Finn looking like that, though, when just yesterday he was looking at Rachel in exactly the same way.

It was why her makeover went so horribly. She looked nice, hot even, but the results were disastrous. Sure, Quinn hadn't even given her a second look, seeming more interested in Noah than anything—it was hard to miss the almost thoughtful looks the blonde had given a baby book in class and Noah out of them when Rachel was watching to see if Quinn noticed her at all—but Rachel had kind of expected all that going in. It was Finn that ruined everything. He had looked at her in that way again, the way he did before everything happened—the way he was looking at Quinn at this very moment—and that was when she knew the makeover had been a mistake.

Sighing, Rachel was almost thankful that Tina was on the last verse. Being demoted to back up really gave her mind too much time to wander. She turned a little in an attempt to rid Finn's face from her eye line and it was then out of the corner of her eye that she noticed Quinn was looking at her. Rachel couldn't miss the blonde's eyes and the fact that the girl was seated right next to her made it all the more apparent. She didn't know what to do because the look on Quinn's face wasn't the usual tempestuous rage Rachel was used too—the ex-cheerleader almost looked… pensive.

"Rach!" Brittany exclaimed brightly, bouncing over in a way that had been lacking in the blonde's demeanour since Santana left her side.

Realizing the song had ended, Rachel looked towards her—unfortunately making it impossible to watch Quinn any longer because Brittany was standing on the opposite side from where Quinn sat—and she gave Brittany an encouraging smile.

"Hello, Brittany," she said conversationally with a slight nod in acknowledgement.

Before Rachel could do anything else, Brittany was hugging her and though she was bewildered as to why, their second ever hug as friends was definitely better than their first.

"Thanks," the blonde whispered near her ear and Rachel was still confused until she spotted Santana watching them a little ways away, still seated on her stool from the performance.

Santana just nodded and then Rachel understood.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile that rivaled even Brittany's.

The warm feeling of accomplishment was enough to make her feel better than she had in weeks until the hug ended and Rachel looked over towards Quinn, her hopes immediately dashed when there were no hazel eyes staring back at her.


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel had forgotten her gold star glitter pen in the library this morning and leaving the wellbeing of such a precious item to chance was unacceptable. It was why she was in the middle of executing a search and rescue mission instead of sitting in Math Class listening to Mr. McGregor blather on about polynomials.

The very fact it was left in harms way—defenceless and so alone on top of one of the many defaced tables in the school's library—was just a testament to how messing with her daily routine was detrimental to the livelihood of everything important to her. Coming to school early had been her only option, though; she just didn't handle conflict well between the people she loved. Rachel knew the moment she strolled into the kitchen this morning for her daily low carb-lactose free Strawberry Banana breakfast smoothie—and caught her Daddy trying to discreetly hide the duvet that was sprawled haphazardly across the couch—that date night hadn't gone well.

Her fathers' arguments were always the same, lasted about a week—except for that one time she'd rather not think about when she was eight—and usually stemmed from a total lack of likeness in their personalities. Her Daddy, Leroy, was like a giant teddy bear, laid back and so encouraging while her Dad, Hiram, was hot tempered, dramatic and methodical. They were almost total opposites.

Rachel wasn't sure what the dispute was about this time, but she imagined it was just like the last time: Dad wanted to micromanage and Daddy refused to see the benefits in planning over spontaneity, resulting in the age old epic battle between who's right and who's wrong.

The problem was her curious nature and need to help always got the better of her when her dads were fighting. They weren't exactly masters of subtlety—they were Berrys after all—and it would be so easy to figure out everything her curiosity yearned to know. But, a big part of her always dreaded knowing; she feared it would be as bad as when she was eight years old, coming home from school, and being told that her Daddy was staying at her Aunt Robin's for a little while. Unfortunately, that same fear was also the reason why she had to know, which left her feeling so conflicted that avoiding the problem was the only thing that helped.

So, that was why she had shamelessly left her most prized pen behind. Leaving her home early this morning had effectively ruined all of her personal equilibrium and sitting in the school's library—with computers that took a decade to do basic commands, never mind loading a web page—was a recipe for boredom, hence her need to practice her signature to keep busy.

Pushing through the glass doors of the library, Rachel's entire face lit up when she spotted her pen unharmed, exactly where she left it, a few tables away. She quickly made her way over and scooped the pen up in her hands to closer examine it for any signs of distress. Thankfully, there were none and when Rachel turned to finally go to class, she found herself unable to move.

She was rooted to the spot and a sudden overwhelming urge to do something ill advised, something that was quite possibly suicidal when it came down to it, hit her unexpectedly. Ever since she had caught Quinn staring at her during _True Colors_ , it had literally taken the threat of a self-inflicted ban on everything Barbra—including the four-disc box set chronicling the trials and tribulations of her idol's early career that her Daddy bought her before he realized she could cry on demand—to stop her from seeking the blonde out to feed her need for answers.

But, now, Quinn was before her, looking like a fallen angel with sad eyes and Rachel could never resist temptation. She always ended up giving in, no matter how hard she tried and it looked as if even Barbra's big star power wasn't enough to stop Rachel from wanting things too much.

The ex-Cheerleader appeared to be lost in thought and Rachel zeroed in on the hand Quinn was absently running along one of the six Cheerio pages in last year's Thunderclap. It seemed Quinn was still deliberately trying to punish herself with reminders of everything she'd lost. Finn had told her about finding the girl watching Cheerio practice after the fifth time it had happened. Rachel could understand the temptation to revel in the times where things were better—it was an innate human response to be wistful of things lost—but she wondered if it was more than that for Quinn. Maybe the blonde believed that the pound of flesh payment for absolution needed to come from her heart for it to be valid. Such things were ludicrous, of course, but Rachel had thought a lot worse during the early years of being tormented—so who was she to judge?

Rachel briefly wondered about going over to the table and it seemed to green light her motor functions without her consent. She was walking in the blonde's direction and Quinn looked up at her before Rachel could figure out where the override button was to change direction.

The blonde slammed the Thunderclap closed harshly, the resulting bang echoing loud enough to receive a glare from the tiny bespectacled man stamping books near the library door. Rachel looked on nervously, not knowing what to expect.

"Stubbles, why are you at my table?" Quinn growled, narrowing her eyes in that way that made it extremely hard for Rachel to focus on anything but her rapidly beating pulse.

"I…I…" she took a breath, quickly collecting her composure enough to allow her thoughts to penetrate the fog hindering her concentration, "I came to rescue my infamous gold star glitter pen from the harrows of high school charity and I happened to notice the troubled look you were giving the book on the table in front of you. Of course, when I chose to investigate further, and realized said book was the Thunderclap from last year; it made perfect sense as to why you appear to be so distressed. I just wanted to see if you were alright because looking at—"

"Berry," Quinn sighed, looking somewhat pained by trying to follow such a stream of consciousness from the Diva, "I'm fine, except for the pounding headache following your ramble gave me."

Rachel gave a small self-deprecating smile before shrugging. "Usually people employ the act of selective hearing so it doesn't hit them all at once, if they listen at all. I wouldn't expect you to know, since you're usually in the 'not at all' category, but I'm appreciative of your efforts all the same."

"Whatever," the blonde murmured with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel took in the ridged posture, the pale toned arms protectively cradling her unborn child and the hazel eyes that were deliberately looking away from her at a bookshelf to their right. It was all evidence that the blonde was shutting down ranks, except Rachel knew what happened when Quinn felt attacked—she struck back with a blow that left her opponent too wounded to strike a second time—and this definitely wasn't anything like that.

Quinn almost looked nervous and Rachel couldn't understand what made this time different from all the others. Either way, Quinn hadn't left yet or really insulted her to the caliber that Rachel knew the blonde was capable of, so the Diva decided to take advantage of it for as long as possible. Sliding into the seat across from the ex-Cheerio, her eyes cast around for a topic of conversation until they landed on the book on the table between them.

"So the Thunderclap, huh? I suppose that is the only book in this place that wouldn't turn to dust if removed from the shelves," Rachel said, distastefully.

Glee wasn't the only causality to Sue Sylvester's demands for hovercrafts and European dry-cleaning. It was probably why she saw Mr. Schue cleaning her English class that one time or the weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in the Auditorium before Glee started up. Everything suffered for the Cheerios to flourish: it was the reason Rachel disliked them so much until Quinn decided to add slushies and insults to the list.

"Pictures are this week, I always look at the ones from last year," the blonde sighed.

Rachel smiled briefly because Quinn was sort of acknowledging her presence. Sure, she still wasn't looking at her and she looked tense enough to splinter if touched; but Rachel wasn't going to be deterred when she was getting some type of positive response.

"Yes, that is understandable. It is only natural to want to know the strengths and weaknesses of the photographer to insure you are captured in the best light possible, though, I'm sure you've never really had a problem with that."

Slowly, the blonde turned to look at her, just as Rachel realized exactly what she had said. She felt the blush drifting inward from her ears and silently wished, not for the first time, that her barely there verbal filter didn't just disintegrate when she was nervous.

Quinn's eyes narrowed and her arms moved up to cross in front of her chest. "Jeez, Man Hands, you're not hitting on me are you?" the blonde scoffed.

"Of course not, Quinn and again I'll express my utter confusion at being called that when my hands are much smaller than yours. I was merely expressing my belief that when you're not scowling or glaring, you're actually quite pretty, and such things wouldn't be a problem for a photographer because no one scowls on picture day," Rachel explained much more convincingly than she thought she'd be able to after only seconds to prepare for the role.

She hadn't really been hitting on Quinn but her intentions were a lot less pure than the small part of them that she'd just shared with the blonde. Quinn didn't say anything, though, and Rachel was just about to search through the many inherent roles, categorized by level of usage in her head, for something that would be more successful, when the pregnant girl started to blush.

"I…um…thank you," she whispered and then quickly looked away.

Rachel was practically beaming at the response. This was going better than all their previous interactions combined. If she just overlooked the few insulting names and the blonde's usual standoffish demeanor, they were actually communicating.

"That's not necessary, really. I try to give a select number of compliments everyday because I'd rather not be indebt to karma on my road to becoming a star. Though, this will make talking to Finn all the more harder, since I usually use all my daily compliments on him to build up his self-esteem enough so that he'll feel comfortable enough to talk about something that isn't football or the Cafeteria's lunch menu…" Rachel trailed off, wondering if she could justify avoiding him for today because Quinn just proved that her compliments were best served elsewhere once in a while. "Not that, it really matters, of course. Are you looking forward to the Glee Club's picture in the Thunderclap this year?"

Quinn shook her head and Rachel wondered why—she'd, after all, been looking forward to it since the club's conception—except then, surprisingly, the blonde turned to look at her.

"Why would I want to let myself get photographed in a photo that will just get defaced?"

Rachel's brow furrowed in deliberation because she wasn't quite sure what to say. She knew her reasons wouldn't be good enough to convince Quinn otherwise, considering most of them were purely selfish. Still, she was proud to say freshman year had resulted in a very successful page to face ratio in the infamous McKinley yearbook. The experience proved to be very beneficial in finding the perfect paparazzi smile for when Rachel became a star and she was memorialized for years to come in a glossy finish. The odds that the Cheerios were able to deface her face in every copy of the Thunderclap dramatically decreased the more she was present, hence her eagerness to join every after school club she was able to, schedule permitting.

Glee was different though. They really were the perfect metaphor and that was important. Just like gold stars, Glee illustrated something she valued about herself. They were dismissed and ridiculed—even Brittany and Santana, her near death experience with Santana Lopez and the Cheerios locker room could attest to that—yet they made something of themselves. It was almost inconceivable that this was the same club that tried to make an ironic pun out of _Sit Down Your Rockin' the Boat_ way back when.

Sometimes a tangible representation of what she'd been facing her whole life, made it easier to remember what she was doing it all for. Her presence in the club was just an extension of something she already had within herself. The conversation she had with Mr. Schuester about being apart of something special came to mind but all that didn't really give her anything to say to Quinn, who was still, amazingly, looking right at her. Or maybe it did.

"The majority of my reasons to be in the Thunderclap stem from my dreams of being a huge star but I only have one reason for wanting to be in the Glee Club photo. I believe in what Glee represents and I want to leave here knowing I was a part of something that I believe in," Rachel explained with a small proud smile to show her conviction in her words.

Quinn was momentarily thoughtful before she seemed to realize and rolled her eyes instead. "Well, I'm sure you're used to it by now but I'd rather not offer my face up as a surface to vandalize, thanks."

The bell rang ending period one and Rachel's eyes widened. She'd missed her entire math class, had she been talking to Quinn for that long? Rachel bounced to her feet in fear of tacking on a 'late' to her already earned 'absent' and was all ready to leave, when she realized she hadn't finished her conversation with Quinn.

The blonde was looking at her incredulously—apparently, her dramatic leap to her feet hadn't come off as smooth as she imagined—and Rachel thought about what she could say that would still leave her time to get to class. Like usual, it came to her effortlessly.

"Despite my best efforts to make it so, Glee has never been about singing. Everybody is there for reasons that are not complimentary to honing their craft and improving themselves vocally. I think if you figure out what that is for you, it might be important enough to face that masses and their sharpie pens." Rachel paused to review her comment back, and when she decided she had nothing to add, she smiled. "See you in Glee."

As she walked away, Rachel wondered if maybe this time had been enough to convince the blonde how good a friend she could be. She didn't want to get her hopes up, but like usual they were teetering on a precipice waiting to fall.

* * *

Rachel sat off to the side watching her fellow Glee club members bounce around on the giant mattresses set up on the showroom floor at Mattressland. She was thrilled that this complete stroke of luck—derived by her ability to cry on demand—proved to bring the group closer together.

Brittany gesturing wildly with her arms in the direction of one of the giant mattresses caught Rachel's attention. Mike and Matt were beside her nodding until one of them said something that had Brittany jumping up and down in excitement, clapping happily. They were still planning the choreography for the commercial and Rachel would be helping if she didn't have an ogre-like shadow tailing her every move.

Finn coming to apologize every five minutes really disrupted the flow of creativity and Brittany was her friend so Rachel reluctantly bowed out to preserve the blonde's moment to shine. Sometimes it was hard to find reasons why she was trying so hard to keep Finn in her life. No matter how many steps they made in the right direction, he'd almost always end up knocking them double the steps back without a care in the world until he realized she was angry. Rachel really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—because she was skeptical he even knew the word malicious existed—but that didn't stop him from hurting her once again.

_She had two people left on her list. Her quest to find a co-captain on Mr. Schue's behalf wasn't going as well as Rachel had hoped. She was beginning to think that her teacher knowingly gave her an impossible task just to get out of it himself._

_Sighing, Rachel looked down at her checklist and put a small red 'x' beside Brittany's name. At least the blonde had been truthful and hadn't made up an inane excuse like Kwanzaa or stomach rolls, though Artie did make a lot of sense._

_Unfortunately, with Brittany officially in the negative column that left only two people: Finn and Quinn. Both were left until last for a reason and it wasn't the similarity in the pronunciation of their names, which was actually quite bizarre now that she thought about it._

_Asking Quinn for something was what Rachel would liken to trying to talk a lion into not mauling you. The stupidity of putting herself in that situation was hard enough to live down and then there's the whole surviving potential death to contend with afterward._

_Still, Rachel did have some luck earlier in the week and she'd rather not have to convolute the waters with Finn if it wasn't needed. It was decided, Quinn was next._

_Rachel had approached the blonde at her locker. Quinn's hair was tumbling over the periwinkle fabric of her dress in wavy curls and the Diva was momentarily distracted by thoughts of following said waves with her fingers._

_"You need something, Man Hands?" Quinn sighed, rolling her eyes at the glazed look she received in return. "You're not inviting me to your sex reassignment party, are you?"_

_Rachel was firmly shoved back into reality by the words. She was more disappointed than hurt really because she'd really thought it would be different this time, after their almost civil conversation in the library. Rachel supposed it was her own fault, for hoping for something different, but she just couldn't help it._

_So, despite already knowing the answer, Rachel asked anyway. "As you are aware, Glee Club needs a co-captain and I wanted to formally offer you the position. Out of everyone, you really are the best candidate for the job and I think the two of us together, with my vast knowledge of musical theatre and your natural leadership qualities, we'd make a good team."_

_She stood anxiously waiting on rejection, cradling her books to her chest like a poor man's shield for her heart. Quinn's face didn't give away much of anything and Rachel couldn't help but admire the blonde's ability. She was sure her face was giving everything she was feeling up without a fight—it always had to those that chose to look, much to her chagrin._

_Quinn's face softened for a moment but it was so quick that the sharpness was back before Rachel could even be sure it happened._

_"Yeah, I don't think so, Stubbles. Find somebody else to be your sideshow freak," the blonde laughed with the usual sardonic lit to her voice._

_Rachel watched her walk away and wondered when people had stopped parting like the Red Sea for the blonde. She was knocked and jostled, almost as bad as Rachel was. A wave of anger washed over her, completely muting any residual feelings brought on by the pregnant girl's refusal._

_Rachel was so surprised by Finn's chest appearing in her eye line that she jumped back a bit into the front of Quinn's locker_

_"Rachel, are you okay?" Finn exclaimed, while reaching his massive hand out to squeeze her shoulder. "I didn't mean to scare you."_

_She nodded slowly and brought herself up a couple steps away from the locker. "It's okay, Finn. Actually I'm glad you're here. I meant to approach you today because Glee Club is in desperate need of a co-captain and I believe you are the right person for the job."_

_Finn looked momentarily shocked before he nervously looked around. He was going to say no but Rachel knew she could talk him into it. While she would usually frown upon taking advantage of Finn's clear self-esteem issues, these were desperate times. She'd have to do it, for the well being of the club and her promise to Mr. Schuester._

_"You know, I'm really busy," he stuttered and quickly started to walk away._

_She practically had to jog to keep up with him. "I'm desperate. Glee Club needs you, Finn," she voiced pleadingly._

_The boy's steps faltered somewhat and Rachel thought she had him until he just started walking faster—she was almost sprinting now._

_"I'm totally honoured you asked me but don't you think you should pick somebody that cares more? Not that I don't, but I just have football and friends and stuff."_

_Unfortunately, nobody really cared more; Finn was it. She had even asked Santana but when the Latina had stopped some freshman in the hall and asked him for a lighter, Rachel ran off quickly._

_"Glee Club only started working after you joined," Rachel explained, willing him to just give in. "Face it, we wouldn't have all of the cheerleaders and football players in the club if it wasn't for you."_

_Finn sighed, almost resigned. "You know I love Glee Club but I just don't know why I have to represent it."_

_Rachel knew she was losing him. She had to do something so she grabbed his arm and turned him around. Her eyes were pleading with his and Rachel hoped he could see how dire the situation was._

_"Because you're a leader, Finn and that's what leaders do. They stick their necks out for people that they care about. There are stakes here, morale is low, you know it. If things don't change we're not even going to place at Sectionals and then the club is over. I can't do this alone."_

_And when his head unconsciously nodded, she knew she had convinced him. Rachel did feel a little guilty for using his dreams of earning a scholarship through Glee but she needed to do it. Not only was Sectionals her big break, it was everyone else's as well. She wasn't going to let them down and with someone the club respected like Finn, she'd be able to make them better._

_"You don't have to," he finally said with a small smile. "I am a leader. That's who I am, who I want to be. You got yourself a co-captain. I'll do the picture with you."_

_Rachel smiled and in that moment she forgave him._

_Unfortunately, twenty-four hours later, he had let her down again. Rachel ended up alone, fighting back tears of bitter disappointment, in front of a mirror, trying desperately to cheer herself up. He didn't show up to the picture and once again he'd managed to make her feel like a fool for trusting him._

_His campaign to apologize started soon after._

Her patience was wearing thin and just like clock work—almost like he was counting to sixty, five times in his head—the familiar eclipsing of everything in her eye line by Finn's giant stature was seconds away from playing out as he walked towards her.

He passed Artie and Tina, who were conversing quietly in front of one of the smaller mattresses that were almost dwarfed by the larger ones behind them, and Kurt and Mercedes, who snapped to attention like they could smell drama in the air. It was only a matter of seconds until Finn's large legs and colossal-size steps brought him before her.

Rachel's eyes closed in preparation of his arrival, when Finn's angry voice rang out through the store. "What the hell, Santana?"

Surprised, they quickly popped back open and she wasn't sure what to think about the scene before her. Santana was smirking triumphantly and Finn was sprawled out on the floor with one leg half on a mattress.

"Walk much, Frankenteen?" Santana laughed with an extremely exaggerated eye roll.

"You tripped me! It wasn't my fault!" Finn whined and quickly looked around for help from the other Glee kids.

Much to Rachel's amazement, they all shrugged and looked away, leaving Finn to fend for himself. When not even Quinn came to his defense, there was no use helping him anyway.

"Whatever, Jolly Green. Why don't you go sit down before you hurt yourself again?" the Latina replied, still looking as nonchalant as ever leaning against one of the giant mattresses.

Finn stood and quickly turned to look at Rachel before shaking his head in Santana's direction. "No, I'm—"

"I don't think you understood me. It wasn't a suggestion. I want to get out of here sometime today and RuPaul can't choreograph with you blubbering at her feet like an oversized sheep dog looking for a master. So sit your ass down and be a bitch on your own time, got me?"

The boy seemed to get the message loud and clear because he was scurrying back the way he came in seconds. Then Santana turned to look at her and rolled her eyes.

"RuPaul, I don't see you moving. I'll mutilate Streisand if I have to," the cheerleader threatened and all Rachel could see was her poster being cut into tiny conjoined pitchforks before her very eyes.

She quickly jumped to her feet, smiling smugly at Santana—because no matter what the girl said, she had done it for her this time, not her blonde girlfriend—and started speed walking towards a happy Brittany.

Rachel could just make out the confused expression on Quinn's face before Brittany grabbed her hand and dragged Rachel up onto the mattress to show her what they had planned out so far.

* * *

As Rachel watched Mr. Schue despondently take the blame for her mistake, she couldn't help but smile. Even in harrowing times, the sight of him finally coming into his own as a leader was the spotlight on a pitch-black stage. Doing what was best for the group, even if it was to his own detriment, was what leadership was all about.

Mr. Schue was disqualified from competition because he had unknowingly revoked their amateur status by sleeping on one of the mattresses they'd received as payment for the commercial. Rachel wasn't sure why the man decided to sleep at the school but after that one visit to his home—an unfortunate moment of weakness—she had some ideas.

She couldn't help but think that her first act as Glee club captain hadn't helped the team at all. They'd lost Mr. Schue but with the only other option of not at all, she knew she couldn't let him down again. Finn couldn't be trusted to take on the task of being a leader, no matter how much he said he wanted to, so it was all up to her. Only even she couldn't lead a room nobody respected her in. Maybe Brittany could force Santana to help with her usual insulting ways of leadership. It seemed to work with Finn.

They were dismissed soon after Mr. Schue's pep talk and Rachel found herself walking aimlessly through the halls, still not really wanting to go home. It was her fourth time passing Coach Sylvester's office when she heard the woman's voice bellowing out one of her infamous scathing remarks.

"It's like looking at a porno star in a nun's habit."

Rachel looked down at herself, trying to understand how the woman could possibly see that in her plaid dress, when she heard another familiar voice trying to convince the coach otherwise.

"I wanted to show you that it still fits. My baby bump isn't that bad it's just like I had a big lunch."

Quinn.

She was trying to get back on the Cheerios and now finding the blonde deep in thought over the Thunderclap a few days ago made a whole lot more sense. Glee was sinking, Quinn was sinking and the blonde wanted what she knew to hold on to. Rachel supposed that answered her question about why Quinn was in Glee in the first place.

Still, she was curious and practically standing in the middle of the hall. Rachel quickly flattened her back to a set of lockers to the right of the door, just as the cheerleading coach went into another Sue Sylvester patented remark.

"Take it off. You need to get it through your pregnant head that there is no way you're getting in that photo or back on the Cheerios. End of story."

"You're a hypocrite," Quinn challenged icily.

Rachel was surprised, she hadn't quite heard that level of coldness in Quinn's voice before. It made her smile a little insanely because maybe the blonde didn't hate her as much as Rachel thought.

"Excuse me?" Coach Sylvester's voice was just as icy and instilled fear of the demonic woman almost stopped her heart. Any sense of happiness she had felt was rapidly running for an exit.

"I just heard that you got Glee Club's amateur status revoked over a mattress while you are constantly showering the Cheerios with swag. I've gotten free shoes, complementary tanning, haircuts, the season tickets to Cedar Point. We sold those on eBay for a profit. Seems to me that if Figgins found out, you would get banned from competition."

Rachel's heart started beating again and her cheeks were flushed, since when did she find Quinn being argumentative so appealing? She flashed back to the sight of the blonde yelling at Finn—heavily breathing with dark cobalt eyes dripping in confidence and control—and Rachel swallowed very slowly.

"Fine, you're back on the Cheerios. I'll put you on full time dry cleaning duty and shove you to the back of the photo to hide your shame—" the woman started until Quinn interrupted.

"I'm not finished. Glee Club gets a full-page photo."

Rachel fell deeper into her haze after hearing Quinn brashly interrupt someone like Coach Sylvester so she didn't quite clue in to the blonde's demand until a beat or two after. But, when she did, the Diva's back involuntarily strengthened in surprise because it just didn't make any sense. Quinn had just gotten what she wanted, hadn't she? Why would she continue to fight for a picture she didn't want to be in anyway?

"That's not up to me," the cheer coach stated and Rachel marveled in how the woman could dismiss the very thought with just a tone.

"You are giving up one of the Cheerios six pages and you're giving it to the Glee Club free of charge."

Rachel was pretty sure her knees were a little weak as Quinn's command fluttered to her ears. She swallowed again and leaned more heavily into the lockers for good measure. Holy mother of Streisand, Quinn arguing so passionately for something Rachel wanted was so hot. If the blonde were actually doing it for her, she'd probably be spread eagle on the floor right now.

There was a loud creak, it must've been Sue's posturepedic chair, before her voice filled the room, sounding extremely amused.

"You know, Q, I've forgotten just how ruthless you really are. You're like a young, Sue Sylvester. Now get out of my office, if you can manage to squeeze though the door without your water breaking all over my new carpet."

And that was her queue to leave; Rachel could hear Quinn's footsteps as she approached the door. She had just reached the end of the hall when she heard the blonde's reply.

"You know what, I don't think I want to be a Cheerio after all. I don't want to be on a team where I only appear to belong. I'd rather be apart of a club that is proud to have me, like Glee Club."

As Rachel continued walking away, she realized that she really didn't know Quinn Fabray at all. It would surprise her if anyone really did because the girl that she saw at school everyday certainly wouldn't have taken her advice to figure out what made Glee special to her.

But, she did and the warm feeling pinging around inside of her chest wasn't like anything Rachel had ever felt before.


	10. Chapter 10

Since Mr. Schuester's unfortunate and untimely disqualification as Glee Club faculty advisor, Rachel had taken it upon herself to take the reigns and steer the club into greener pastures. As co-captain, it was her duty to inspire the group in times of adversity and harrowing loss so they could come out victorious like Judy Garland in the all time classic movie musical, _The Wizard of Oz_.

Unfortunately, not all the members seemed to be happy under the current regime. Mercedes was still insisting they dip _Don't Stop Believin'_ in a little chocolate by turning the second verse into her own personal solo and when that was shot down—loudly by Rachel—she went on to campaign for the ballad. As Rachel suspected some time ago, leading a room of her peers wasn't working out at all.

So, she was just about to call practice—and regroup later after reading the how-to leadership books she'd checked out of the library—when the piercing sound of rubber sliding across a slick surface reached her ears.

Practice stopped and everything went silent. Even Mercedes and Kurt ceased their discussions of campaign ideas for stealing Rachel's solo. Quinn was on the floor and Rachel stepped forward instinctively to make sure the blonde was okay, when Puck and Finn swarmed around the pregnant girl anxiously.

"Is it the baby, is it coming?" Finn exclaimed with wide eyes.

Puck looked up at Finn. "I think we're supposed to get hot towels."

Puck's usual air of indifference was flooded with concern and Rachel found it odd that Noah was so nervous on the baby's behalf. Sure, he had feelings for Quinn but he'd never expressed such a deep-seeded fear of her wellbeing in front of everybody before. Yet, there he was worrying about Baby Fabray.

"Would you both just shut up? It's like sweat on the floor. I slipped, okay. I'm fine," Quinn ordered and quickly pushed their hands away so she could stand up on her own.

Rachel bit her lip nervously as she watched the blonde teeter dangerously twice before safely getting back to her feet.

"Well, now that Juno's no longer beached, me and B are out," Santana announced with a roll of her eyes at the two giants flanking Quinn's sides.

"You should drink some water, Q. The whales die because they're thirsty. Me and Rachel watched it on _Animal Planet_ ," Brittany added before linking pinkies with Santana, who was already dragging her towards the door. "Bye, Rachel!"

"Goodbye, Brittany," the Diva replied just as the two cheerleaders disappeared into the hall.

Kurt had the quintessential look of horror and confusion displayed by everybody else in the room but was the only one brave enough to ask, "You two watch _Animal Planet_ together?"

Rachel turned to look at him and beamed. "Yes, ever since the very informative documentary about the Argentine Red Shoveler a few weeks ago we've made it a standing event. I would've invited all of you but you've never previously claimed an interest in aquatic mammals before. There's a special on the platypus next week if—"

"Mercedes and I are going to have to pass. Christmas shopping," the boy offered quickly with a wave of his hand.

The two were gathering their things off the risers when Rachel asked, "I thought you celebrated Kwanzaa, Mercedes?"

Both stopped in their tracks, looking at each other quickly, before Kurt stepped forward. "Christmas for me, Kwanzaa for her."

"We're doing all the shopping at once," Mercedes added with an edge in her voice, daring Rachel to disagree.

Rachel didn't and after that people started to disperse. With a sigh, Rachel walked towards the piano. Unfortunately, there was no room for a piano at home, so she could usually be found practicing in the school if the need for one arose.

She had yet to perfect the piano track for Elton John's _Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word_ and it needed to be flawless. Her cheerleader had still not returned, no matter how many videos Rachel posted or messages she sent. This was a last resort, a video dedicated to them in apology. She just hoped they were still watching and hadn't given up on her altogether.

Rachel put her hands on the keys, the crisp tones of the piano filling the otherwise silent room with a desperate melody begging for forgiveness. That sense of pain and longing hit Rachel in a wave, festering low in her stomach until it bottomed out.

Then, she started to sing, "What have I got to do to make you love me? What have I got to do to make you care? What do I do when lightning strikes me and I wake to find that you're not there?"

The Diva expertly ran her hands along the keys, losing herself in the music, and wondered if this would be enough. With the way things were going lately with Finn breaking her heart and having to survive unrequited feelings for Quinn day after day. Her parents still in a cold war over her Daddy accepting a job at the hospital with more hours and the existence of Glee Club hanging in the balance, she needed whoever was on the other end of those comments—she needed them like the deserts miss the rain.

"What do I do to make you want me? What have I got to do to be heard? What do I say when it's all over and sorry seems to be the hardest word?"

Rachel was just about to start in on the chorus, where the song needed the most work, when a soft exhale of breath from behind her distracted her enough to misplay a note. Jawing clenching in anger at being interrupted, Rachel whirled around to lecture whoever it was about proper manors during a performance but hazel eyes stopped her in her tracks.

"Q…Quinn, what are you doing here?" she stuttered and internally berated herself for her lack of poise in such a situation.

"I came to get my notebook," the blonde said softly with earnest eyes until she seemed to catch herself and her whole demeanor hardened. "What's it to you, Berry?"

The tone instantly put Rachel on the defensive and she straightened up, her shoulders tense. "I just wanted to know why you so rudely interrupted my performance without even an apology."

Rachel really didn't mean it, well, maybe she did. It was her infatuation with Quinn that made her Internet vigil go away and now the girl had just sabotaged her again. Still, Rachel couldn't help herself from picturing the blonde as the one typing out the comments that took her breath away and that was the problem right there.

It wasn't Quinn and whoever it was would only ever disappoint her if their identity were revealed. Rachel would leave if she was second best too and no matter how hard she tried to change it, Quinn was still her number one—even when she treated to her like the subbasement of her life.

"When are you going to get that Finn is mine, Man Hands?" the blonde growled, taking menacing steps towards Rachel and apparently completely forgetting the notebook that rested under a chair a few feet away. "You singing your stupid little song for him isn't going to change that."

The accusation deflated Rachel's sails instantly and the feelings of inadequacy from that day in Finn's kitchen were returning like strikes to her heart.

"I understand, Quinn," the Diva said demurely. "I should've never tired to come between you in the first place, especially since you're pregnant with his child. The song isn't for, Finn. I assure you."

Surprisingly, that appeared to deflate the blonde's ire as well and Quinn was stuck searching for something to say without the usual rush of anger behind it. She cradled her stomach and her eyes flickered down to the floor. Rachel had never seen that particular expression from Quinn Fabray before and she knew why—the blonde looked guilty.

Little by little the puzzle was starting to fill with the pieces right side up and Rachel was a tiny bit nervous about what she saw. She had to be wrong—the whole idea, it was just preposterous.

"So who's it for?" Quinn finally said and Rachel's head snapped up in surprise. She'd been too lost in the mystery to remember the blonde was even there. "Brittany? Tell me it's not Santana."

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion at the question, Quinn almost seemed anxious for her answer—still cradling her stomach, not making eye contact and the ridged posture—she looked the exact same as she did in the library a couple weeks ago.

"Why would I sing such a song for them?" Rachel said questioningly. "I don't believe I've wronged them enough to warrant such a gesture, even though Santana is very adamant that I aggravate her just by breathing. Rest assured my personal possessions would most likely be defiled by now, if that were the case."

"Well, you're like friends now or something and nobody else would even notice you singing a song to them," the blonde scoffed and Rachel looked at her for a second until her face pinched in concern.

"You're not mad, are you?" she asked, quietly. "I know they're your friends. I assure you Santana abstains my presence just as much as she did before and would probably abandon me in lieu of you, if the situation required it."

Quinn shook her head and sardonically laughed, desperate enough for Rachel's heart to hurt. "Yeah, you're right, Berry. What was I thinking?"

Rachel watched the blonde slowly make her way to the chair her notebook was hiding under. When Quinn grabbed it, she hugged it tightly to her chest and the sight broke Rachel's heart a little more. Maybe the blonde really did believe she had no one.

Even with Finn by her side and the Glee club singing her songs that shattered look always remained, haunting the swirling depths of Quinn's sad eyes. Rachel hadn't expected Quinn to ask her for help after the melodic offering to be somebody to lean on, but she always assumed the blonde had gone to somebody else. It was clear now though, that she hadn't.

Rachel stood quickly, when she realized Quinn was almost out of the room. "Quinn," she called out softly, stopping the blonde in the doorway.

Quinn's head tilted slightly to side, so Rachel could just make out the pale skin of her cheek, and the pregnant girl drew in a breath, almost in preparation for what came next. "What, Berry?"

Rachel found her left foot straying forward a bit but quickly forced it back into place when she realized what she was about to do. It wouldn't be welcome; she'd be the last person Quinn would want a hug from.

Instead, Rachel settled for using her words. "You're not alone, you know?"

The Diva found herself zeroing in on the small amount of the blonde's face that she could see, desperately waiting for something, any form of recognition to her words.

And then it came, in that hollow laugh that only served to break Rachel's heart even worse than it had before. "Yes, I am and I'm better off that way."

Rachel stood motionless as Quinn walked away and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the inkling feeling confirming what she already knew.

She needed proof. Rachel had to be one hundred percent sure because maybe her sixth sense was wrong this time. It had never been mistaken before but baseless accusations had no standing in this situation.

It was wrong; it had to be.

* * *

Rachel arrived at school for the early morning Glee practice she demanded the club attend through mass text last night. Of course, she had chosen to give the popular clique a later start time so she could extract the information she needed first but it was a Glee practice all the same.

She quickly hurried to her destination, having decided to push back her usual pre-class locker visit, to make sure any premature arrivers didn't interrupt her search for the truth. As luck would have it, everybody was early and gathered around the piano when she walked in.

"Hey, guys," she said, hoping that she sounded inconspicuous. She was well aware that they wouldn't tell her anything if her suspicions were correct but she didn't need them to talk long, just enough for her sixth sense to gage the situation. "Did any of you think it was weird the way that Puck rushed to Quinn's aid during rehearsal yesterday?"

Mercedes looked relatively calm, turning to glance at Tina before she said, "No."

The attention had an adverse affect on Tina though and she started swaying slightly to release her nervous energy the best she could. Unfortunately, Artie came to her rescue before Rachel could direct a question at the girl.

"I mean, he likes her," the boy stuttered, the tremor in his voice was concealed horribly. "They're friends. We all know that."

Rachel already knew about Noah's feelings for Quinn. She was probably the first of the club to know but that wasn't what they were hiding. They knew something more and Rachel decided to push harder.

"Yeah, but it seemed like more than that." Her sixth sense was pinging like crazy and she couldn't help but want to tell them she was on to whatever the secret was they were keeping. Inevitably her own secret of her semi-telepathic abilities was what she decided to share. "I've never told you this before but I'm a little psychic. I can't read minds or anything yet but I do have a sixth sense. Something is definitely going on there."

Mercedes looked at her with wide eyes and Rachel finally believed she had the girl on the ropes. Now that the girl knew she was up against a greater power than just common sense, Rachel was confident she'd give in.

"Uh, we got to go," Mercedes said quickly and Kurt nodded in agreement before hopping to his feet.

Unfortunately, everybody else decided to run too and Rachel could feel her chances at answers slipping away. Besides, it was unacceptable that they were leaving practice so early when Sectionals was just days away.

"But, we have to practice," she cried, watching as everybody filed out leaving Kurt, who was grabbing his messenger bag from beside her.

"Oh and we will," he exclaimed and she chased after him when he neared the door. "As soon as Mr. Schuester names a faculty advisor to replace him."

Sighing, she must've come on too strong again. Maybe threatening them with her sixth sense wasn't such a good idea. She just wanted them to know she knew they were lying; it wasn't like she was dangerous.

She decided to tell them so. "It's nothing to be scared of, it's not like _Carrie_ or anything."

Sadly, nobody heard her—they were already in the halls.

It didn't matter, though, she supposed. Rachel had enough confirmation to move forward with step two of her plan. Tina was way too nervous and Artie really wasn't subtle at all. Mercedes and Kurt, well, they had more practice with keeping secrets—or more how to gossip without anyone knowing—so their lack luster reactions meant nothing.

If her hypothesis was right—and she had to admit it was looking like it was—then the baby was Noah's, not Finn's. Rachel wasn't sure how she felt about that. It certainly changed things in her relationship with Finn because it put her in a really difficult position: betray a friend or betray the one she had unreciprocated feelings for.

As for Quinn, well, she didn't really know. Every time she tried to determine if it changed her feelings for the blonde, Rachel just ended up with a really uncomfortable feeling in her stomach—like something was pressing down on top of her sternum. The more she thought about it, the worse the feeling became and Rachel didn't really like feeling that way.

At any rate, those trivial things couldn't distract her right now. If the baby was Noah's, Rachel needed to know for sure. The direct approach wouldn't work—as just illustrated by her fellow Glee Club members—so she'd just have to take the long way around to the same destination.

Normally, Rachel would forbid herself from participating in anything underhanded because she felt she had more integrity than that. But, this situation called for it and she knew her curiosity couldn't be held at bay any longer, especially with the people that were involved.

So, she devised a plan last night in a simple thirty-slide _Powerpoint_ presentation complete with every such contingency and a plan to combat it. Her cousin Leon's unfortunate—but unnecessary—plight years ago had presented her the perfect way to figure out what she wanted to know. _Tay-Sachs_ was a Jewish disease and if she spoke to Quinn about it, the blonde would want to get her baby checked, if Noah was the father.

It was the perfect plan and while she didn't like using such a devastating disease for the purpose of sleuthing, Rachel made a mental note to make a large donation to all the major _Tay–Sachs_ research charities when her soon-to-be stardom afforded her with the monetary backing to do so.

Closing her eyes, Rachel tried her best to get into character, still in the hopes that she was wrong. The uncomfortable pressure in her stomach seemed to only get stronger the more she fought against the truth.

* * *

Rachel stood leaning against her locker with her arms cradled to her chest. She was waiting for Quinn to arrive at her locker to exchange her belongings for lunch. The fact that it took Rachel three whole classes just to prepare for this moment was a little disconcerting, especially for a seasoned performer such as herself. It made her wonder if she was doing the right thing, maybe such reluctance from her conscious mind to comply to her theatrical demands was a sign.

Rachel quickly shook the thought away when she saw the blonde approaching in her patented blue baby doll dress and a fluffy white cardigan that looked so soft. When Quinn had her locker open, Rachel moved to come up beside her but was thwarted by a text message. She never could let such a communication go ignored, as she always feared it would be something important like an agent to the stars discovering her _MySpace_ page or an emergency text from one of her dads.

Sighing, she quickly flipped open her phone—that was thankfully already in her hand from earlier when she removed it from her backpack while waiting for Quinn—and realized it was Brittany. Scanning the message, Rachel sighed and looked up just in time to see Quinn walking down the hall. The Diva reluctantly turned in the opposite direction.

Santana was mad at Brittany, that was all the text had said, and Rachel knew exactly where the blonde would be. She just hoped that Coach Sylvester hadn't diverted from her usual lunchtime plans of mocking Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury because she really didn't want to get caught sneaking into the Cheerio locker room by the slightly deranged woman. Santana was bad enough.

"Brittany," Rachel called as she pushed open the heavy door. "Are you in here?"

She walked a little further from the doorway and spotted the blonde in the exact same place as when she found her before, staring at Santana's locker.

"Yes," the blonde unnecessarily whispered.

Rachel slid in beside her and looked up at the locker with Brittany, not really understanding the appeal. It seemed fruitless when Brittany could just stare at the real thing and show Santana how ridiculous she was being.

The Diva looked over at the cheerleader and shook her head. "Why do you come in here to stare at her locker every time Santana is being obtuse?"

Brittany looked a little confused for a moment but to her credit she didn't ask for a translation. When a small smile adorned her face, Rachel felt a little better, knowing things weren't as horrible as last time around.

"It's Santana," Brittany explained with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

Rachel's brow furrowed, having no idea what that meant but trying her best to figure it out. A minute passed and Rachel looked back at the locker, still not getting it.

"You mean, it's her personal property?" she finally blurted out, taking a stab in the most likely direction she could think of.

Brittany looked at her again with an amused grin and Rachel couldn't help but feel a little inept. No matter how hard she tried, nobody would get Brittany like Santana and vise-versa—it was why they were meant to be, if Santana would stop being so thickheaded. But, Brittany didn't seem to mind explaining things when Rachel asked and the Diva afforded her the same kindness back when her words were a little too sophisticated.

"No, silly. It's most like, Santana. She isn't the same here but she loves cheerleading. She says she likes the feeling of being invincible."

Rachel smiled. "That does sound like her, yes. I suppose winning all those National titles would make anybody feel unbeatable."

Brittany shook her head again. "No, she likes that people count on her to keep them from falling."

Rachel thought back to the handful of football games she frequented when she had feelings for Finn. She had quickly realized that football was completely unappealing and the Cheerios caught her eye, just like they did with over half of the crowd. All the flipping and the acrobatic stunts were very entertaining after a half an hour of Finn getting knocked down in football pants.

Brittany was right though; Santana was always the one catching people as they flew in the air. One wrong move by Santana and somebody would most definitely be seriously injured. Such power could certainly make anybody feel invincible.

"So what did she do this time? Undoubtedly, she's the one at fault because she has a problem controlling her impulses, which could stem from her complete lack of respect for authority or some might fallback on the patent fiery Latin stereotype," Rachel exclaimed with a slight shake of her head.

"I didn't understand anything but the question at the start and 'Latin' because S likes it when I call her my Latin Princess in bed when—"

"Brittany," Rachel interrupted with wide shifty eyes, looking anywhere but at her friend. "We talked about this remember? It is inappropriate to share such things with me and it makes me feel awkward around you when you're with Santana, which is most of the time."

The blonde smiled sheepishly and nodded quickly. "Sorry, Rach. I forgot."

"It's okay," Rachel said with a small smile of encouragement. "But, please continue with the answer to my question. What did Santana do?"

Rachel watched as Brittany moved her left leg to the other side of the bench so she was straddling it and facing her. She looked reluctant for a moment and Rachel was about to offer some words of support when Brittany started talking.

"We were talking on party-line in the hall when Santana told Kurt that she wasn't dating Puck because sex wasn't dating and then I said that we would be dating if it was. Then she got angry," Brittany sighed, before letting her eyes fall to gaze at the bench beneath them.

Rachel looked pensive for a moment—her eyes had this far away glisten and her brow was furrowed in concentration—before she beamed with pride at coming up with a solution.

"Well, that doesn't really make sense because you two have been acting like a couple for weeks now, since you rekindled your romantic involvement. How did Kurt take it?" she asked while slightly tilting her head unconsciously in curiosity. "Did he say anything because that could be why she is angry? She could be projecting her feelings onto another target to avoid dealing with the root problem and that would mean she isn't mad at you at all."

Brittany looked up momentarily before looking down again with a shake of her head. "No, everybody was just quiet and then they started talking again."

Rachel went back to pensive, as she desperately sought for a solution to Brittany's problem. It was looking more and more like she'd have to risk another terrifying heart-to-heart with Santana, which was something Rachel had no desire to do.

As a last resort, she decided she needed more information. With more information a problem should emerge and a solution—that hopefully didn't involve any face time with Santana—would present itself.

Straightening up and unconsciously nodding her approval to her own course of action, she asked, "Well, why were you talking about Noah? What was said before that?"

Brittany's head snapped up quickly and her eyes were wide. She seemed to be thinking something over before she shook her head. "S, said I couldn't tell you."

Rachel opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, clearly not understanding why she was being banned from an answer. She wasn't exactly happy that Santana had forbid Brittany from giving her the information that would make the blonde feel better.

"Well, if she forbid you from sharing such information with me, it could only mean that it's the reason why she's mad at you," Rachel explained but Brittany was biting her bottom lip, still looking reluctant to share. "What about if I give you my word not to tell anybody else?"

Brittany seemed to be staring at her in search of something, maybe the validity of her statement. At any rate, Rachel meant what she said, she'd never lie to a friend, especially Brittany, who had only been nice to her. She wouldn't ruin such a valued connection was lies. She refused—

"Q's baby is Puck's baby," Brittany said, interrupting her thoughts.

The cheerleader looked mildly confused by her own statement before she looked at Rachel expectantly for the solution she promised. The problem was that Rachel's brain wave function had ceased to exist since Brittany's confession. Sure, she had suspicions but getting them confirmed was a whole other matter.

"Um…" Rachel trailed off with wide eyes and a jaw that looked seconds away from dislocation.

"You're not going to tell, right?" Brittany asked, now nervous when she didn't get the usual wordy response she was expecting. "S, said we can't win Sectionals without Finn and if he finds out then Glee is over. I like Glee, I don't want it to be over."

Rachel blinked a couple times before shaking her head at a speed that bordered violent. "No, I'm…I won't tell."

Brittany smiled happily and pulled the Diva into a hug. "Okay, so now you can make S not mad at me, right?"

Rachel pulled away with a smile and she nodded seconds after that. Santana would be relatively easy compared to keeping her promise to Brittany because Finn was her friend too. He might annoy her a lot more nowadays but she had firmly forced him into the friend zone, it was only fair that she treat him as such.

Either way, she was going to be lying to someone and the little voice in her head wasn't yelling Finn.


	11. Chapter 11

Rachel wasn't too happy about Mercedes' attempts at usurping her solo for Sectionals but she did see the merit in letting her audition. It was the professional thing to do and Rachel wanted to receive the solo unanimously from the club. The accomplishment would be real then, not just because she stood unopposed. So, Rachel sat on the risers, between Brittany and Finn, as the opening notes of Mercedes' song filtered throughout the room.

It was instantly recognizable, as one of the most notable torch songs to ever come off the Broadway stage and most recently the titular song in a blockbuster movie musical. Personally, Rachel found the choice to be a little cliché but Mercedes had a niche. The girl never really strayed from it—preferring to mould the music to suit her—and Rachel supposed it was smart to sing what you're good at. It was incredibly safe too.

As she watched, it was hard not to be drawn into the performance. Mercedes was belting out the lyrics and clenching her fists with such emotion, almost like she was Effie White pleading for Curtis to acknowledge their love.

The rest of the Glee club were on their feet around her, screaming and clapping with an excitement Rachel had never seen in them before, least of all when she was performing. The stab of envy wasn't surprising because this was all she ever wanted happening in front of her for another person. Yet, as she looked back at Mercedes—who had her arms out and her eyes closed concentrating on holding a note—she couldn't help but stand too.

Rachel knew she'd lost the solo and in the midst of such a riveting performance, she found herself blinking back tears. Forfeiting her dream—of being under the bright lights, just her in front of the crowd with her heart beating out of her chest and down to her sleeve—was going to be hard.

Her heart already felt heavy, pounding painfully, willing her to fight for what she so desperately wanted. Because physically handing away the opportunity for the validation she'd fought her whole life for—surviving the hatful slurs, the slushie showers, the early morning vocal lessons and her daily cardio workouts—it was just heartbreaking.

It was her chance to prove to herself that she could do this, that this was what she was meant to do, no matter who told her otherwise. But, it really wasn't anymore and maybe this was her lesson in humility. Rachel really hoped that it wasn't a sign that she'd got it all wrong, that she wasn't good enough after all.

Despite her efforts to lead the club out of the fog of fear and inadequacy that had settled over them since Mr. Schuester had left them all alone, Rachel had been rather unsuccessful. The appointing of their new faculty advisor, Miss Pillsbury, didn't really help either, since she knew nothing about music and Mr. Schue was probably the only one that drew comfort from her anyway.

But, then Mercedes appeared with her one song and she had them back on their feet, hope shining in their eyes in a room filled with infectious enthusiasm. The club needed Mercedes to lead them. Rachel might've been better suited for the solo but she'd never inspire the passion from her peers like Mercedes did. There was no point in even auditioning to show her superior skills as a balladeer.

Rachel felt a hand slip in to hers and she looked up at Brittany, who was looking at her with a soft smile. The blonde squeezed her hand gently, and then turned away to clap for Mercedes, as the song came to an end. Rachel knew that was her queue and she slowly made her way towards the girl in the middle of the room.

Mercedes spotted her and between heavy breaths, she sneered, "Thoughts?"

Coming to a stop in front of her, Rachel took a breath and prepared herself for giving what she wanted most away. She had to keep telling herself that this was what they needed the most right now and she'd be a hypocrite if she didn't act like the leader she described to Finn.

"It's clear the room adores you," she exclaimed with a small smile, ignoring the shattered feeling in her chest, "and although it wouldn't be my first choice…but, I can't wait to see you sing that song at Sectionals." Another breath and Rachel's eyes softened. "You are amazing, Mercedes, and you deserve it. I'm going to hug you now."

Mercedes smiled and Rachel was shocked when she held open her arms, beckoning her closer with a wave of her hands. "Okay, come on."

Rachel found herself laughing because she almost felt like they were friends, or at least they were on their way to becoming something close to it. Maybe this was an okay conciliation prize and when she heard Mercedes laughing too, Rachel felt good that she had made the girl happy. It was a nice change from the usual feelings of annoyance and anger she was used to inspiring regularly.

The bell rang and both girls pulled back. Rachel wasn't sure what to do so she just stood there, willing herself not to break the spell. Mercedes didn't have the same problem and quickly broke their shared eye contact, her eyes flickering over Rachel's shoulder briefly, before she looked back with a grateful smile.

The girl squeezed her arm gently, before softly whispering her thanks and running over to Kurt. The two friends looked at each other with wide smiles and sparkling eyes. When Rachel heard them whisper something about costumes, she quickly lost interest.

It was then that she noticed Quinn, who was standing off to the side watching Mercedes with her hands clasped to her chest and a bright smile adorning her face. The content feelings from her hug with Mercedes were gone pretty quickly after that. Quinn was looking at Mercedes so adoringly, like she couldn't be happier for the other girl, and it seemed Mercedes really did get everything Rachel ever wanted.

Sighing, Rachel realized that maybe she really couldn't do this. Nobody seemed to understand how excruciating this was for her, except Brittany but she had already left. Rachel was happy for Mercedes, she really was, but watching all these people she cared about celebrate Mercedes' windfall that had been derived from her loss—she just…it was too hard.

Rachel turned to run, before the tears started to fall, and in her desperation to escape she must've hit a wall because her forehead was aching. She reached up to rub her injury, when she realized there were large hands holding her shoulders, almost like they were attempting to steady her from a fall.

"Rach? Are you okay?" Finn asked desperately. "I'd tried to get out of the way but you just kept coming towards me and…are you hurt?"

Rachel tried to blink away her tears, as she worked on extricating herself from his hold. "Of course not, Finn. I'm completely fine, though I do appreciate the thoughtfulness in asking. I must get to my locker before classes commence, so please excuse me."

With a slight nod, she stepped around his large body and darted out into the hall. Unfortunately, he was quick to follow after her and Rachel tried her best to hide the dull pain in her chest by wrapping her arms around her waist in a poor attempt at a hug. She felt a little better though, hoping her hold would be enough to stop herself from crumbling to pieces.

"That was pretty cool in there," Finn said, gesturing back to the music room for unnecessary extra emphasis. "I know that must've been hard for you."

Rachel's eyes snapped up to look at his and she couldn't believe that after all this time, he'd unknowingly stumbled onto the exact thing she needed him to say. Rachel felt warm all over and her vision started to blur. Thankfully, she was able to blink the tears away before they escaped.

"It…it was the right thing to do, I wanted to bring the team together," she said softly, so resigned and so sad.

When she realized they were at his locker, Rachel casted around for an excuse to leave the conversation but unfortunately he was already agreeing with her.

"Yeah," Finn exclaimed and when he turned towards her in front of his open locker, Rachel knew she couldn't run away now. "You know I gotta be honest, I'm kinda pumped about Sectionals. This has been a hard couple of months with Quinn and the baby and everything. I don't know, I really think that winning could make everything good for a while. You know? Is that stupid?"

Rachel swallowed and her throat burned in an effort not to scream out what she knew. It hadn't hit her until now, she'd been distracted by her own fears and sadness and now he was in front of her spilling out his. Despite his tactless actions towards her, Finn didn't deserve this and she felt so guilty for hesitating. He was her friend, at times her only one. Rachel needed to tell him but when Brittany's heartbroken face flashed in her mind, she chickened out.

"It's not stupid at all," she mumbled earnestly, looking up at him with eyes that were swirling with all the secrets she didn't want to escape.

Finn noticed but he lacked the fortitude to put the pieces together. So, the boy settled for looking confused, while his eyes flittered back and forth across her face. "Is something up with you?"

The words were like a match, igniting a blaze in her gut that very quickly started to fester out of control. Flames spread, relentlessly licking at the nerves that were seconds away from exploding. Rachel felt like she was overheating, her skin hot to the touch, and she was too overwhelmed to stop the bomb from going off.

Rachel was just so angry and so tired. She really hated Brittany at that moment for putting her in this position and the kids in Glee for being too selfish to see how this lie was tearing Finn's life apart. Rachel found herself hating Quinn most of all because the feelings Rachel had for the blonde were making this ten times worse. This shouldn't have been her burden to bear—Rachel shouldn't have to choose.

"I want you to be happy, Finn," Rachel said honestly and then she just couldn't stop, "and when you care about someone, you can't sit around and watch them suffer when you know you can do something about it."

Finn teetered nervously and his eyes were wide with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel just couldn't handle him standing there, looking at her so earnestly with the weight of consequences he shouldn't have to accept on his shoulders. She really wanted to choose Quinn, but it was just too hard to do that again. Rachel had been doing that for months now and it just hurt too much, especially now, after Finn had been the only one to really care about her.

She took a breath and made an impulsive decision. Rachel hoped Brittany would understand "I have to tell you something and I'm not—"

"RuPaul," Santana barked and when Rachel felt a sudden pain radiate through her shoulder, she realized the cheerleader had yanked her arm, flinging her through the air until she landed beside the Latina in the middle of the hall. "It's time for your daily testosterone shots, you know, so you can be a real boy. Let's go."

Instinctively, Rachel dug her heels into the floor and tried to pull out of the Latina's grip. "Unhand me this instant," she ordered and Santana just wrenched her arm again, dragging her forcibly down the hall.

"Hey," Finn yelled after them, still in front of his locker, but Santana wasn't deterred.

As they got further and further away, Rachel had to accept Finn wouldn't be coming to her rescue, not after how Santana embarrassed him last time in Mattress Land.

People were plastered against their lockers—making sure to stay out of Santana's way— looking at them with wide eyes, most in curiosity but some laced with fear. While it was common knowledge Santana Lopez despised Rachel Berry, the masses at McKinley had never actually seen the Latina be so violent in her smear campaign against the Diva.

Rachel tried to pull away again, as she didn't appreciate being manhandled in to compliance. That, unfortunately, aggravated her abductor further.

"Berry, don't make this difficult because I'll have no problem kicking your ass after what I just interrupted," Santana growled, an angry scowl plastered firmly in place across her face.

Rachel shook her head, still trying desperately to free herself from Santana's grip. "I have no idea what—"

The Diva interrupted her own rant with a scream, as Santana pushed her against the Cheerio locker room door and she went tumbling backward when the door gave way. Luckily, her years of Ballet afforded her with excellent balance so she was able to save herself from falling to the floor.

When Rachel was finally planted firmly on two feet, she looked up at Santana who was glaring at her a couple feet in front of the door.

"Good," the Latina murmured. She wasn't as loud as before but her tone was sharp enough to slice through Rachel's defenses effortlessly. "Now that we're all by ourselves, you can cut the shit. I know what you were about to tell Big and Tall in the hall just now and I can't let that happen. There—"

"I wasn't going to tell him anything," Rachel argued, while her eyes were darting around the room trying to avoid Santana. "I don't know what you thought you overheard but I assure—"

"First, I wasn't done talking," Santana interrupted and Rachel snapped her mouth shut in response to the fierce glare that felt like a hot needle piercing her skin. "Second, there is no use lying. You look guiltier than a fat kid standing beside an empty box of doughnuts and you aren't getting out of here until I'm convinced you won't run your mouth the moment I'm gone."

Rachel was still extremely reluctant to admit to what she was going to do before Santana interrupted her. Mostly because she wasn't sure how she felt about being dragged away before she could tell Finn the truth. He really did deserve to know but now that she wasn't so angry, it was easier to realize that it wasn't her secret to tell. The only problem was that Quinn didn't look all that interested in doing the right thing by herself and Rachel was still reluctant to side with her again.

Crossing her arms over her chest—a go-to classic for the indignant pose—Rachel stared Santana down. "He has a right to know, Santana. He's my friend and maybe you and the rest of Glee can pretend they don't know, but I can't. So, unless we reach some type of compromise, we're going to be trapped in here for a great deal of time."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Or we can do things my way and you'll agree to shut your mouth to save all your precious Streisand memorabilia."

Rachel dropped her arms to her sides and shook her head with a large confident smile. "Unfortunately, that isn't possible. After your last verbal attack against Barbra, I decided to get proactive and procured a floor safe to protect all the irreplaceable items in my extensive and invaluable Barbra Streisand collection. Brittany assured me that your safe cracking abilities were not up to par with the model I selected."

Santana looked at her with wide disbelieving eyes before she shook her head. "You actually did it, didn't you?"

Rachel was almost preening at the fact she had finally beat Santana Lopez at her own game. "I assure you, I very much did but even if you don't believe me you'll never be one hundred percent sure, so threatening me with such baseless violence proves to be counter-productive in the end."

"Berry, you really are completely mental," Santana snickered, causing Rachel to huff in annoyance, "and I clearly don't want to be anywhere near you when you finally fly all the way over the cuckoo's nest, so we're going with Plan B."

Santana walked over to the bench that Rachel was standing beside, and sat down so her legs were stretched out along it.

Rachel watched with narrowed eyes until she couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Excuse me? There's a Plan B?"

The Latina rolled her eyes, looking extremely bored with the conversation, much to Rachel's chagrin. "Berry, there was always a Plan B, I just liked Plan A better."

"You mean when you kidnapped me, almost killed me when you threw me in here and threatened my life multiple times if I didn't comply with your demands for silence?" Rachel was not seeing how that was the better plan.

She might be a tad obsessive but clearly Santana was the one that was mentally unstable. Her nonchalance about the whole thing just served to unnerve Rachel even more.

The Latina looked up at her with a satisfied smile on her face before she nodded. "Yep, as I said, better."

Rachel's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as she continued to be at a loss for words, until she just blurted out, "You're a sociopath!"

Santana looked up at her from the bench, her head tilted slightly with a devious sheen to her dark eyes. "You know, I had a therapist that called me that once and then I had this dream where I drove to his office and killed him. The weird thing was that he disappeared the next day."

"W…what?" Rachel stuttered, her eyes big, brown and disbelieving. It only seemed to make Santana smirk dangerously. "You can't be serious?"

"Of course not," the Latina offered nonchalantly, as she quickly moved to sit cross-legged on the bench, "but, you'll never be one-hundred percent sure, will you?"

Santana's smirk reminded her of a shark—all teeth and evident danger—but Rachel tried her best to gain some of her equilibrium back. She was only semi-confident that the other girl wouldn't try to kill her at this point and the Diva decided to clutch desperately to that, as she gathered the courage to offer her rejection.

"I cannot, in good conscience, knowingly walk into a situation that has been planned by somebody completely devoid of empathy and consequences," she murmured and as usual her nerves just set her rhetoric off. "I don't even know how you're not incarcerated yet. My faith in the law of averages has evidently let me down because you're still free to iniquitously torture me on a daily bases. It is incredibly disconcerting."

"Well," Santana drawled, for dramatic effect only, of course. Rachel could recognize such tactics from miles away. "There's always the off chance that Plan C involves your murder, so if you want to take a chance on averages again, please by all means, refuse Plan B."

Rachel visibly swallowed, as such murderous scenarios flashed through her mind with horrific precision. Shaking her head, Rachel quickly came to the conclusion that she must avoid Plan C at all costs. "I want to make it known that my acquiescence is only being offered under duress and in genuine fear for my life."

Santana rolled her eyes and slapped her hands on her thighs, the sound like a gavel sealing Rachel's deal with the Devil. The Diva was completely on edge and thoroughly over reacted to the noise by jumping a couple feet in the air. Unfortunately on the way down, Rachel lost her balance and tumbled onto the bench beside Santana.

The Latina smirked and leaned her weight forward with her palms still spread out on her thighs. "Duly noted, Berry. Now, stop shaking like a fun-sized sex-toy and lets get to work."

* * *

As far as plans go, Santana was certainly calculating enough to draw up something plausible to execute. The only problem was that the Latina's trust and control issues all commingled together creating a plan where Santana was the star of the show and Rachel was only mentioned in passing. Clearly, such an injustice did not sit well with Rachel but she didn't have any other choice, unless she wanted to tempt fate with Plan C—and she absolutely did not.

She was able to wheedle one small concession out of Santana—who had dramatically rolled her eyes and acted like she'd asked for an arm and a leg—which was why she was loitering in front of her locker while the Latina went in search of their target.

It didn't take Santana long to return because, as she previously stated, Santana Lopez was extremely capable at finding people when she needed too. Rachel supposed it was an innate ability that came with being popular because she could never locate anybody, only Brittany, but that was because the blonde was only ever in one place.

Rachel whirled around so her back was to the two and carefully tracked their movements in the gold star glitter mirror that had been conveniently packaged for purchase with her gold star glitter pen. The mirror was positioned perfectly in her locker so she could see across the hall, as she found very early on that it was quite handy for detecting oncoming slushie attacks.

When they walked by and into an empty classroom a little further down the hall, Rachel slammed her locker shut before quickly chasing after them. She came to a stop at the locker to the left of the doorway, close enough to hear the conversation from where Santana has left the door slightly ajar but far enough away that she wouldn't be seen through the large window that made up half of the door.

"S, what are we doing here?" Quinn sighed and Rachel frowned momentarily at the fact that she couldn't see her before the blonde started talking again. "I have other things to do."

"Seriously, don't start being bitchy with me," Santana warned, Rachel could almost see her crossing her arms in her patented angry stance. "Tell your spawn to control itself and it can release its hormonal shit later when it sees Daddy Puckasaurus."

She heard Quinn's breath hitch and it seemed like she couldn't get her breath back, when all she did was stutter, "Wh…what? Why would—"

"Drop the act, Q. Everybody knows. Your baby daddy let it slip to Precious a couple weeks ago and she sent a mass text," Santana barked, sounding completely annoyed.

Rachel wasn't sure if she really was, the Latina did have a short fuse but this was also part of a bigger plan. She could've been faking it.

"Everybody?" Quinn asked softly.

Rachel swallowed as she imagined the way Quinn was with her in the music room: confidence gone, completely broken and cradling her stomach like it was the most important thing in her world. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, letting Santana talk her into this, but then the Latina knew Quinn better than she did, right?

"Yup, everybody knows you not only cheated on your man child but you also helped Puck cheat on me," Santana sneered, almost challenging the blonde to disagree.

"S…I—"

"I don't want to hear it," Santana interrupted and Rachel wondered if it was because it sounded like Quinn was going to apologize. Santana didn't really do well in emotional situations—the bruise to prove it had finally disappeared from her shoulder last week. "I almost decided not to do this, you know? It's the least you deserved but I changed my mind. Call it a courtesy for fucking up so bad that Sylvester just handed me the throne. RuPaul knows and we both know she's not going to last a day before she tells Dumbojock. You gots probably a couple hours tops so chop chop, Juno."

There was a long pause and Rachel almost risked peaking through the window, when Quinn's soft voice fluttered through the room. "Can you—"

"You made the mistake, you fix it," Santana stated sharply. "You really don't want to ask for more, right now."

Rachel quickly pushed away from the lockers when Santana burst in to the hall. The Latina rolled her eyes and started walking, leaving Rachel to scramble to catch up.

"Are you really that mad about Noah?" the Diva blurted out when they turned the corner into the music hall.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Of course not, Berry. She needed to think I was so she'd have no other option but to tell him. It's called acting."

Rachel huffed indignantly at the very insinuation that she didn't know what such a thing was. Santana only continued to look amused.

"I cannot believe that you have the audacity to question my dedication to the arts. Since my first competition win at three months old, I have prided myself on being a triple threat and painstakingly maintained my talents in singing, acting and dancing through a vigorous relevant extracurricular schedule. Furthermore—"

"Furthermore, you need to shut your mouth," Santana sighed with a quick shake of her head, almost resigned to the fact it would never happen.

There was a beat of silence and then Rachel set herself off into another ramble. "How do you know this will work? I don't see how you telling Quinn I'd tell Finn is any different from me saying it to her."

"Don't you know anything, Berry?" Santana groaned with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "Right, I forgot who I'm talking to, of course you don't. Dealing with people is all in the approach. You have to determine someone's strengths and weaknesses, then think of a way around them."

They both went out the doors at the back of the school, the bleachers and the football field directly in front of them. Rachel's eyes widened and she wondered briefly if she was following Santana directly into Plan C, before she shook it off.

"While I'm aware my people skills might not be up to…your standards, I find your approach to people incredibly alarming. It is doing nothing to dissuade my belief that you are suffering from an _Antisocial_ _Personality Disorder_ , a clear symptom of the sociopath."

Santana walked towards the field, seemingly entertained by Rachel's continued accusations of her being mentally unstable, as the Diva chased after her. "Well, I let you listen at the door, didn't I? I accommodated your annoying need to pry, which doesn't sound crazy to me."

"Well, no," Rachel sighed, biting her lip at the argument against her hypothesis, "but you only agreed because I refused to acknowledge that your plan was far more superior to my already sufficient, albeit impulsive, idea to tell Finn in the hall."

Santana barked out a laugh, shaking her head. "That's true. Maybe I really did kill my therapist."

Rachel's steps momentarily faltered for a second but she quickly recovered in her chase after the cheerleader. "You're doing this on purpose and I do not find this amusing or productive in anyway."

"It's too bad that I do, isn't it?" Santana shrugged before taking the bleacher steps two at a time. Once she was at the top, she sat down and watched Rachel as she ascended the metal structure after her. "Now where was I, right it's all in the approach. If you come at Q head on, she'll take it as an attack and figure she could probably destroy you before you could open your big mouth and destroy her. But since I did it instead, she has nowhere to go because she knows if I felt obligated to take time out of my day for her bullshit there's no way to stop you. And, if you told the Leaning Tower, like you were going to, people would've blamed you, instead of the idiots that decided to bareback it over wine coolers."

Rachel's nose scrunched up in obvious disgust at the Latina's candor in describing Baby Fabray's conception, until her face suddenly brightened. "I find that scenario exceedingly distasteful but, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you did this to protect me."

Santana laughed obnoxiously, almost too loud for the sentiment to be real. "Yeah, right, RuPaul. This was a one-time deal. You better not start baking me cookies and drawing up plans for including me in your lonely Friday nights or I really will kill you."

"You didn't have to do this to apologize to Brittany, you know?" said Rachel knowingly, while her smile was bright enough to gleam on the metal seats below them. "Sometimes an actual apology works wonders, especially if you follow it up with a promise to stop running away from her."

"Whatever, Berry," Santana scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

"You're welcome," Rachel said in a sing-song voice that only served to aggravate Santana further.

* * *

Rachel walked towards the music room. It was their last practice before Sectionals on Sunday. She had to say, she was a little nervous—since failure meant the end of Glee—but the excitement of such an event certainly was infectious. Giving up the solo had been devastating but as the day wore on, Rachel came to accept the situation a little more. She still wasn't completely happy about it but she wasn't teetering on an emotional meltdown like she had been earlier.

She had just turned into the music hall when an anguished cry reached her ears. "Tell the truth!"

Finn.

Quinn must have told him.

Rachel took off running to the music room door.

"You were dumb enough to believe it," Noah yelled just as she skidded to a halt in the doorway.

Quinn was standing there, tears streaming down her face and Rachel's heart thudded painfully. She looked so sad, devastated, as she stared up at Finn, who was shaking with grief. Noah was in front of Quinn, like he was protecting her, and he just looked angry.

Suddenly, Finn cried, "I'm done with this, all of this!"

He brushed passed her and into the hall, probably not even noticing she was there. Rachel turned to go after him but then Quinn looked right at her. Those hazel eyes that continuously haunted her dreams bore into her own and Rachel felt like she couldn't breathe.

Unconsciously, she took a step forward, wanting to get closer—do something—but when Noah put his hand on Quinn's shoulder, Rachel remembered.

She'd done this.

She had chose Finn and he was out there somewhere hurting, needing her to be the friend Quinn refused to let her be.

Rachel turned and went after him.


	12. Chapter 12

Looking for Finn proved to be most difficult. Not in the literal sense of the word—since Rachel had searched the school and the surrounding area a lot more times than she would've liked—it was the finding that was posing the problem. He'd run out and she had run after him a few short seconds later, yet unfortunately, his tree trunk-like limbs proved to be an advantage Rachel just couldn't overcome.

The tiny Diva begrudgingly admitted she had officially lost him when she noticed tumbleweed—or more possibly a ball of dirt—blow by her in the halls. Finn had obviously gone home and while Rachel didn't exactly relish following him into his own territory, she knew it had to be done.

That was until she spotted Quinn Fabray sadly curled up in one of Figgins' self-proclaimed avant-garde wall alcoves. The blonde was cradling her stomach, lovingly rubbing the bump every so often while her sad hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked so heartbreakingly beautiful in that moment that Rachel was hit by a wave of grief way to big for her to overcome and just pass the blonde by.

This was Rachel's fault, inadvertently or not. She'd forced Quinn's hand because she had chosen Finn, perhaps somewhat selfishly if she were to be totally honest. Choosing Quinn for the last couple months had got her nothing but a daily nightmare of JewFro fondling her panties in creepy dark hallways and she knew choosing Finn would warrant something better, something that rightfully recognized her sacrifice. Rachel had done it for both of them too—for all those reasons she previously mentioned—but also herself as well.

She felt so guilty, and unlike Santana—who didn't seem to care about it at all—Rachel needed to apologize, especially when her heart called out for Quinn constantly, no matter how far her head dragged her away.

Rachel stopped in front of the blonde instead of passing by to the exit. Quinn didn't even seem to notice she was there, her hazel eyes still glossy and looking straight down at some undistinguishable point to her right.

"I'm so sorry. I fully understand if you want to beat me up," Rachel said softly and when Quinn looked up—her eyes so defeated, as if only shattered fragments of her spirit were left swirling in their depths—the words Rachel had wanted to say were slowly leaving her. She said the first thing to come to mind, "If you can, just try to avoid my nose."

Quinn just continued looking at her and what felt like hours was only a few seconds in the hands of time. Rachel was sure she lived through that moment without breathing at all, closing her eyes in anticipation of the blow she knew she deserved.

"I'm not mad at you," Quinn whispered instead and Rachel was so relieved, her heart started beating rapidly in reprieve until her eyes snapped open in the realization that Quinn should be angry, really angry with her for what she did. "All you did was force me to do what I wasn't brave enough to do. Tell the truth."

Rachel swallowed nervously, feeling both her compasses pulling her in opposite directions. Her heart yearned for Quinn while her head told her to take the blonde's words at face value and run. Unfortunately, she could only listen to one and made sure to smooth her skirt down as she sat beside Quinn.

"I was selfish when I wanted to tell him," explained Rachel, nervously playing with the hem of her skirt. "I was angry and wanted vengeance. If Santana hadn't stopped me, I would've taken away your right to tell him for yourself."

Quinn continued rubbing her stomach in calming circular patterns. Rachel briefly wondered what it would be like to touch the blonde in that way, sharing something so intimate and obviously precious to the girl. Then she realized it wasn't her place, the baby's father probably earned that right more than Rachel did.

"And it turned out the same way anyway." Quinn's voice was still distraught, almost like she was struggling through them, fighting off inconsolable sobs. "I have hurt so many people. Can you go now? I just really want to be alone."

Rachel reluctantly stood, waiting a few unnecessary seconds in hopes that the blonde would change her mind, before walking away right into Noah's eye line. She swallowed down the bitter resentment and realization that Quinn had sent her away for him.

Rachel had picked Finn after all; she might as well go to his house and start acting like it. Unfortunately, her heart wasn't in it, it was still stuck beating madly between Noah Puckerman and Quinn Fabray.

* * *

Rachel had only been in Finn's room once before today. Her first impressions hadn't been exactly positive and neither were her second. She couldn't help but eye his faded lassoing cowboy wallpaper in distaste, much like she had during her previous visit to work on a Glee assignment prior to Quinn moving in.

It was just, where would one procure such a 'special' product in the first place, or better yet, why would somebody even want to? The design looked positively ancient, like it had been unearthed from the prop room of _Smokey and the Bandit,_ and wallpaper was supposed to be used as an accent, not to cover an entire room. Debbie Travis would be appalled.

Rachel couldn't imagine how Quinn slept in there and absently looked around for a sleeping mask of some kind, unfortunately not seeing one in the general vicinity. Come to think of it, she didn't see anything that could've possibly belonged to Quinn, which was a little disconcerting when the only other place to sleep was beside the washing machine in the basement.

Shaking her head, Rachel turned back to Finn, feeling a little guilty for being perched awkwardly at the end of his bed worrying about the girl that had just shattered his heart. Said boy was sitting sullenly against the wall in between his tiny television and an old oak dresser that was scotched with the dents and marks of age. His legs were stretched out, his fists were clenched and his face had been overtaken by devastation.

And, Rachel had no idea what to do.

She didn't really have a lot of practice with comforting people and Finn was always so finicky about allowing her to consol him. He much preferred being there for her, usually once the dust had settled and never when it mattered most. It was Finn's low risk way of making himself feel good without the hardship of putting anything on the line, she'd come to realize.

It was okay though. Rachel knew it was wrong to push such knightly expectations onto him, especially when their relationship was what it was. It was just that Finn made it so easy to want that from him. He was so handsome, with a voice that had her melting inside whenever she heard it, and he was the first person to ever pay attention to her. Finn was popular, played football and had the head cheerleader on his arm, yet he had wanted her. He was the leading man she'd always dreamed of, the one that whisked her away to her happily ever after and Rachel may have projected a bit to fill in blanks that just weren't there.

But, perhaps, this time he'd let her comfort him. After all, Finn had let her in after only an hour of knocking and calling his home and cell phone interchangeably. That could only mean Finn wanted her there.

"Finn," she said softly, willing the boy to look up from the fists in his lap, "I think it might be beneficial for you to share your feelings, to get them off your chest so to speak. It isn't healthy bottling things up. In fact being emotionally reclusive is a clear gateway into depression and a life of loneliness with only the town's cats to keep you company, much like my next door neighbour Beatrice before the Neighbourhood Watch condemned—"

"I'm allergic to cats," Finn interrupted and Rachel was just horrified by the realization that her metaphor was flawed.

"I wasn't saying…" Rachel started but quickly gave up, since she was sure any amount of explaining would only confuse him more. "I just think you should talk about it. Somewhere inside of you, you must want to if you let me inside your home."

Finn looked up and he had that stricken look on his face that only appeared when he was trying to figure something out. Rachel wasn't really sure what was giving him trouble in what she said, but she waited anyway. Her patience had vastly improved since Brittany—and by extension Santana—had entered her life.

"How could she do that to me?" he whispered with a violent shake of his head. "How could they do that to me? Everybody knew…everybody! Why didn't they just tell the truth before…before…"

Finn threw his hand up in the air, completely frustrated by not being able to voice his thoughts, so Rachel said them for him. "You started to love her."

Rachel wasn't too sure whether she was talking about Quinn or the baby inside her, it could've been both. It just seemed like the right thing to say because losing love was the only thing that would leave somebody this heartbroken.

She couldn't even be sure if Finn still felt that way about Quinn—since he had been actively pursuing Rachel, something she was now ashamed to say she encouraged—or if it was just the baby that made him make the effort to stick around. Either way, there were feelings of love mixed somewhere in between the narrow space between the two.

He nodded before breaking their eye contact to look down. "I feel like a fool, Rach. Everybody knew and I just went on believing their lies and I thought they cared about me. I know you tried to tell me in the hall but you shouldn't of had to. Puck was my best friend!" he yelled before slamming his fist into his already battered dresser.

Rachel jumped at the sound, her back nervously snapping painfully straight and spurring a ramble. "I don't know, Finn. I'd imagine the whole situation was quite daunting to handle and the lies got too convoluted to take back. That's not to say I agree with—"

Finn jumped to his feet, startling Rachel mid rant, towering over her with dark eyes. The tiny brunette pulled her knees up to her chest and Finn turned away, clambering around in front of her, fists clenched.

"Why did they do it?" he cried before slamming his foot again and again into his poor dresser. Rachel winced wondering if he did it a lot, it would certainly explain its haggard appearance.

With every kick, Rachel's nerves increased until she was sprouting off anything she could think of to get him to stop. "Finn, stop, this is highly inappropriate! Anger should never be physically manifested, not with the wide variety of other less violent relaxation and stress reduction techniques available for use instead. I think meditation—"

"No!" he screamed and Rachel pushed herself further away from him, toward the headboard of his bed. "I let them make a fool of me. How could I actually believe her about the baby? I looked it up, what she said, it can't even happen!"

Rachel was frozen, still curled up wide-eyed on his bed. A part of her was momentarily curious as to what Quinn could've possibly told him but Rachel quickly snapped back to the task at hand. She needed to do something to calm him down and evidently Finn wasn't interested in the multitude of peaceful options she had shared before.

Taking a breath, Rachel grasped at all the conviction she had left. "Finn, you're starting to scare me. If you don't decease with your attack, I'll be forced to leave."

The boy turned around instantly, taking in her scared eyes and balled up stance before folding in on himself with one large exhale of air. "I'm sorry, Rach. I'm just really angry."

Rachel stared at him for a moment before slowly dropping her feet back to the floor and turning slightly toward him. "Maybe you should sing, it helps me and it seemed very beneficial to you in the past."

She deliberately refrained from going into any more detail about _The Pretenders_ song he sang to the baby in Glee and he looked somewhat thankful, uncharacteristically recognizing her rare bout of personal censorship.

Finn then bounced down onto the bed next to her, almost sending her flying to the floor with the force of his weight. Rachel instinctively reached out for his forearm to steady herself and Finn grinned sheepishly until she let him go.

"Sorry, sometimes I forget how tiny you are." Rachel huffed in annoyance, thinking that clearly the fault was on his end—with his beast-like physique—and fully intended to tell him so when Finn abruptly jumped back to his feet, his face once again cloaked in pure rage. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Rachel whirled her head around to look at the door, wondering who had ruined all her hard work at calming Finn down. The sullen eyes of Quinn Fabray stared right back at her, making her breath catch in her throat. The blonde just looked so small, nervously cradling her stomach in the doorway, and suddenly Rachel ached to hold her just like she did when she first saw her in the hall at school.

Thankfully, Quinn stepped forward, stopping just as her toes inched into the room, looking as defeated as Rachel had ever seen her. It was the perfect distraction for breaking through the almost inevitable Quinn haze the blonde put her in every time Rachel saw her.

"I…" whispered Quinn softly, gradually lifting her sad hazel eyes to look at Finn. "I came to—"

"I don't care," Finn yelled, his fists once again—like giant boulders—hanging down by his sides. "Just get your stuff and get out. I can't even look at you anymore."

Whipping her head around, Rachel stared at Finn, her eyes wide in shock. Whatever she'd been expecting, Finn kicking a pregnant girl to the streets wasn't it. He had the right to, of course, but she really thought that Finn would at least give Quinn time to find another place to stay, at least for the baby's sake, who hadn't done anything wrong at all.

Quinn looked down and then quickly back up at him, her eyes now even more glossy with unshed tears. "I…Finn, I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I just—"

"I don't care," he screamed, shaking in pent up rage, and Rachel was getting a little annoyed with all the yelling. "I don't care. I don't care!"

The blonde girl silently nodded and her eyes briefly flickered over to hers—looking so broken and so wounded that Rachel felt tears well up in her eyes—and then Quinn was gone.

Finn was still staring angrily at the door and the murderous look on his face made it quite clear that he had no intention of reconsidering. Still, Rachel tried anyway.

"Finn…" she said softly, her voice raising in pitch as she went, "you cannot just kick her out. She's with child and I'm sure you cannot in good conscience let her go without—"

"I don't care," he murmured, moving to cross his giant arms in front of his chest in a move that made him look more petulant than intimidating. If it weren't for his size, he'd probably get that a lot, actually.

She was getting pretty sick of that answer though and the tiny Diva had finally had enough.

"Finn Hudson!" Rachel cried, jumping off the bed and staring Finn down, disappointment and irritation battling for supremacy in her eyes. "I will not just sit by and allow you to hurl a pregnant girl out onto the streets when you're not even sure if she has anywhere else to stay. Go ask her, at least for the baby's sake."

"I can't." Finn shrugged belatedly and if his eyes didn't look so shattered, Rachel wouldn't have thought he cared at all. "You know what she did, so that means I'm not a part of it anymore. She can do what she wants, just not here."

"Fine," Rachel huffed, arms crossed in a tiny stance of defiance, "if you won't, I will."

When Rachel started marching toward the door—looking determined, almost as if she was pursing a solo—and Finn seemed dumfounded as he replayed what he could remember of their conversation in his head.

"Wait!" he finally yelled, just as the Diva was seconds away from completing one of her best storm outs yet through his bedroom door.

Rachel abruptly stopped, the force lurching her forward a bit before she turned around, staring him down expectantly. "Yes, Finn? Did you perhaps change your mind? Maybe decide that you should at least find out if Quinn has procured alternative accommodations before kicking her out by any chance?"

"You're leaving?" Finn was still incredulous and Rachel softly sighed, as she watched his disbelief slowly turn into anger. Clearly such suggestions had not factored in to his decision to stop her. "I thought you were on my side, I can't believe you're choosing her after what she did to me and how mean she is to you!"

The words were said so loudly that Rachel felt like they were pinging off the walls and launching into her from all sides, negating any hope she had of protecting herself. It sent Rachel instantly on the defensive, glaring at him with a fairly intimidating look of fury in relation to her diminutive size.

"I'm not choosing anyone. Actually, if anything, the fact that I came here to you instead of staying behind at school with Quinn should prove my allegiance is to you. I'm merely making sure you didn't just simultaneously accost and kick a pregnant teenager out on to the streets in the middle of December. I could not have that weighing on my conscience, especially with the holidays right around the corner, regardless of Quinn's recent and past indiscretions."

Finn didn't say anything, he just continued to angrily stare at her with his whole body disingenuously slouched pleading with her not to go. Rachel ignored it and allowed her heart's yearning to lead her out the door. There was no way she could've stopped, fooling herself into believing that she ever had any other choice in the matter only worked for so long. Eventually, her need overpowered the safe choice, the logical choice of choosing Finn, just like it had done earlier when she'd seen Quinn in the hall.

Of course, when she watched Quinn hand off her Cheerio duffle bag and get into Noah's truck, Rachel was reminded of why she resorted to denial in the first place.

She was the one Quinn asked to leave.

Noah was the one that showed up afterwards and the one that Quinn asked for help.

* * *

The bus ride to Sectionals was quiet and undeniably awkward. Finn wasn't there, something Rachel had expected after spending all day yesterday trying to convince him to board the bus and reluctantly leaving unsuccessful when it came time to carry out her pre-competition ritual. She wasn't too happy with him at the moment and not just because his replacement—Jacob Ben Israel—had spent the last half an hour sitting beside her trying for side boob.

Finn had let the team down—admittedly they let him down first—but if Rachel could come back to a group of people that treated her lower than the ground they walked on, so could Finn. Evidently, she was very wrong, however, if the current turn of events was anything to go by.

The team was in big trouble, Rachel could see that. Mr. Schue and Finn not being there was the one two punch that left them pretty much down for the count and Mercedes was too busy glaring at Puck and Quinn—essentially alienating the team even more—to think about her leadership responsibilities as lead soloist.

One bright spot in an overall hopeless situation was Santana's good mood, since the rocky status of her relationship with Brittany made the cheerleader even meaner than usual. Luckily, the Latina seemed to soften while basking in the vibes of hate Puck and Quinn were receiving from the majority of the club. At one point Rachel could've sworn she saw a genuine smile somewhere in between the maniacal pleasure filled smirks and it was only encouraging Rachel's earlier psychiatric diagnosis, if this was how the cheerleader acted when she was right.

The club really had turned on the two, just like Santana said they would. Rachel felt a little relieved that she hadn't gone through with telling Finn, if this was how the messenger was treated, but then quickly squashed that selfish thought down as far as it would go.

It wouldn't be fair, since unlike Santana, Rachel didn't relish in other people's plight. Quinn had refused to make eye contact with anybody since boarding the bus and even Noah's answering glares were a little lack-lustre for the self-proclaimed badass. He had his arm around Quinn—like he was protecting her from the world—but Quinn just stared solemnly out the window not seeming to notice at all.

Brittany appearing in the aisle beside Jacob ripped Rachel's attention away from Quinn. The Diva looked at the tall blonde questionably before Brittany shrugged with a small mischievous smile.

"JewFro, Santana says to move before she shoves your head out the window like my dog, Milkbone, does when we drive him to the park," the cheerleader deadpanned, in the usual absent tone Brittany was known for.

Jacob's beady eyes flickered over to Santana, who was still smiling gleefully toward the back of the bus, and quickly left with a fearful squeak. Brittany clapped triumphantly and plopped down next to Rachel, smiling.

Rachel smiled back, silently thanking the blonde for saving her, and then her eyes briefly glanced over to Santana, who was stretched out a couple seats away. "She didn't say that, did she?"

The blonde sighed, shaking her head. "No, we're still not talking very much."

Rachel nodded, reaching out to squeeze Brittany's arm encouragingly. "Don't worry, things will get better. You know, she assisted me with the whole baby debacle because she cares for you, don't you?"

"I know," Brittany acknowledged, smiling softly over at Santana. "She does that a lot. She does something mean and says sorry by doing something she'll know I'll like."

The tiny brunette's brow furrowed when the blonde tore her eyes away from Santana and looked sadly down at her hands, balled in her lap. Rachel couldn't help but ask. "So, what is the problem? Admittedly, I don't know much about your relationship, or the ins and outs of any relationship for that matter, but it seems like a satisfactory conclusion to an argument between a couple."

Brittany tilted her head just slightly in thought. "It is, I think, if satisfactory means good." Rachel smiled and nodded to which Brittany clapped excitedly. "I've been reading that book you left at my house when I'm bored because my cat is too busy with my diary to play with me."

"It was a dictionary, Brittany," Rachel deadpanned before giggling slightly at the absurdness of the blonde's statement.

Brittany started giggling too and the sounds of laughter in their otherwise happiness oppressed bus garnered lots of attention. Of course, neither girl paid their audience much attention, too caught up in their collective giggles, and almost everybody eventually got bored when the laughter died down.

Only two pairs of eyes remained and Rachel instantly felt one of them, the other she noticed in an attempt to ignore the feeling of the latter. The tiny Diva leaned over, gripping at Brittany's arm and the blonde just looked on curiously while breathing deeply in an attempt to catch her breath.

"Are you aware Santana is staring at you?"

Brittany nodded, slouching slightly to lay her head on Rachel's shoulder. The brunette remembered the first time the blonde had done this, during _Beauty and the Beast_ a few weeks ago in Rachel's living room. It was the second of the five Disney movies they watched that faithful Saturday, when Brittany showed up on her doorstep with a pile of movies in hand.

" _Do you think love is what makes the Beast nice to Belle in the end?" Brittany asked her from her spot beside her on the couch._

_They were a couple of inches away from each other, sharing a blanket and a popcorn bowl, legs stretched out onto the coffee table with an epic Disney tale playing out on her Daddy's big screen television that Rachel was watching with rabid interest until Brittany spoke._

_She turned to look at the tall blonde, who was burrowed childishly under the buttery fleece blanket from the end of Rachel's bed, and shrugged._ " _Loving somebody doesn't necessarily mean you are nice to them. I just think that if a person is continuously nice, it is hard to not feel guilty for not returning such positive actions to said individual."_

" _Is that why you're nice to everybody? I wasn't very nice to you for a long time and you're still nice enough to watch movies with me when Santana and I are fighting during movie night."_

_Rachel nodded her head, leaning back slightly onto the couch so she was looking up at the ceiling. "I guess so, I never really pondered too much about it. Admittedly, I'm not very nice sometimes either, usually when a perceived threat to my Broadway career is involved, but I'm nice to you because you're the only person to ever take an interest in being my friend without ulterior motives."_

_Brittany moved closer, wrapping her long arms around Rachel's waist in a side hug of sorts and resting her head on her shoulder. "I like being your friend, Rach. You're much funner when your eyes don't look crazy."_

" _More fun, Brittany," Rachel sighed but the blinding smile on her face was stuck there all day._

Rachel hadn't asked why Brittany just sporadically decided she liked to maul her one day, even during the multiple times it happened after the first time. She just assumed the blonde was a tactile person and with Santana gone, Rachel was the only one left to fulfill that need. The tiny brunette didn't really mind. Her fathers were very affectionate people and she was used to them substituting touches for words. If only she could figure out what Brittany was trying to say, if anything at all.

"I feel warm when S looks at me," Brittany explained, like Rachel should've known already. "Is that how you feel when Q looks at you?"

Rachel's eyes widened and she glanced over at the blonde—she had been steadfastly ignoring since feeling her gaze—and quickly snapped her head back to the front of the bus before Quinn's eyes could suck her in.

"Brittany, I don't—"

"She looks at you a lot, you know?" the cheerleader said conversationally, almost like it wasn't a big deal at all. "I always see her when I look over to make sure the baby is okay."

Rachel furrowed her brow, trying to determine if she properly understood Brittany's words. Sure, she had caught Quinn staring a few times but Rachel had chalked it up to her being angry about the time she spent with Santana and Brittany, more recently just Brittany. Her sixth sense was notorious for calling her attention to the gazes of admirers and Quinn's gaze never felt anything close to what Brittany seemed to be implying. Really, the only person that fit that bill was her _MySpace_ fan and they were still ceasing communications, even after she posted her apology song.

Pulling back, so she could properly look at Brittany, Rachel said, "I'm not sure I understand—"

"It's okay to say you feel it too because everybody wants, Q," Brittany interrupted before petulantly yanking Rachel back into a position so she could lie against her again. "She's hot, even now with a baby. I think she likes you too."

"Wh…why would you think that?" Rachel stuttered, just barely managing to stay still and not give in to her knee jerk reaction to throw her arms up to release her nervous tension.

"Because she looks at you, silly," Brittany giggled, boldly grasping Rachel's hand for a reason only known to Brittany. "Lots of people stare at Quinn but she never stares back, only at you, sometimes at Puck too but more you."

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed again and she bit her lip nervously. "Well then, maybe I do feel a little warm."

Brittany moved her head from Rachel's shoulder, looking at her with bright blue eyes. "Well, duh, I'm hot and we're cuddling. Plus I think S might be mad at you."

Rachel's eyes snapped to the Latina's that were glaring at her from a few seats away. She quickly looked away and simultaneously pushed Brittany away, something the blonde seemed more than disgruntled by, judging by the petulant frown on her face.

"Don't worry, Rach. S won't do anything, not if she wants me to forgive her," the blonde said before latching onto Rachel once again. "You're a good cuddler."

The brunette slowly adjusted to Brittany's presence once again, finally just giving in and sinking more fully into the blonde's rather comforting embrace. "Thank you, I appreciate the compliment on my skills of being cuddly. My father's also rate my skills exceptionally high, you'll be happy to know. Such achievements aside, why are you withholding forgiveness again?"

Brittany sighed, Rachel had hoped it had been in contentment but the nervous fidgeting of the blonde's hands in her lap ruined that dream exceptionally fast, unfortunately.

"I already forgive her," the cheerleader whispered. "I'm just scared I won't be able to do it again next time."

Rachel nodded, since it was what she had expected anyway. Santana was really making it difficult to make a case for her but Rachel firmly believed that nothing was impossible. "Well, Santana will come to terms with herself eventually and until then it's up to you whether you spent that time together or apart. I have no experience with such decisions but I assume the risks involved are worth it, speaking as the girl Santana looks ready to murder for touching you."

Brittany lifted her head just enough to lock their eyes and pulled out a small foil package from her coat pocket, holding it between them like it was the _Holy Grail_.

"My mom said the store was out of _Scooby Doo_ fruit snacks, but I think _Finding Nemo_ ones are just as good, maybe even better. Fish are yummier than dogs," Brittany explained, ripping the package open with the exuberance of a younger child.

Rachel smiled and accepted the open package, as Brittany dug through her Letterman jacket for another one. "I'm sure they'll be great, Brittany. The gesture is very much appreciated."

The blonde laid her head back down on Rachel's shoulder before quickly looking back up, almost hitting Rachel's chin with the top of her head. "I can feed you if you want. Q will definitely be jealous."

Rachel shook her head, glancing nervously over at Santana, who was watching them like a rabid hawk. The tiny brunette was pretty sure tempting fate with the mentally deranged was not exactly indicative to furthering her life goals, well life span really.

"I'm going to regretfully decline," the Diva said quickly, tearing her eyes away form Santana's ominous ones.

Brittany shrugged and happily rested her head back where it was, eating her way through her fruit snacks. "It's your loss, Rach. I think it would've been hot."

For once, Rachel didn't have a reply, except the noticeably dark reddish tint to her cheeks. She could still feel Quinn's gaze with a tingle down her spine and wondered what would happen if Brittany was right. She'd never thought about the possibility of acting on her feelings before, mostly she just hoped with enough denial and time they'd go away. But, at the thought of Quinn liking her back, Rachel found herself desperately wanting them to stay forever.


	13. Chapter 13

With all things considered, Rachel had actually thought things were going moderately well. Not that they couldn't have gone better but at least Mercedes had put aside her need to participate in the club-wide vendetta against Quinn and Puck long enough to reinforce the bright side of performing last, something Rachel had tried valiantly—and failed—to get across before she was insulted.

Of course, in hindsight they'd both been wrong. But, really, they had no way of knowing that the other schools had divvied up their set list like a freshly baked apple pie until now, when it was blatantly being displayed up on stage. Rachel looked to her left and Mercedes' eyes rivaled that of their acting chaperone and she could see the girl pretty much thought they were doomed.

Furthermore, Rachel could not believe that man in front of her was crying. She understood the emotional impact of the school for the deaf singing about everlasting hope but even that didn't constitute enough for a grown man to start balling his eyes out in public. Not when Barbra, Patti or even Idina weren't involved.

Fuming, she stood up, hands clenched at her sides and yelled, "Meeting in the green room in five minutes."

Rachel then marched away before she could be sure anyone had heard her. She reasoned they probably did because they were too busy worry about their lack of a set list to remember they weren't supposed to like usual.

Once hitting the hallway, Rachel impulsively veered left toward the washroom in hopes of using the five-minute window before the meeting to figure out what the heck she was going to do. Nothing in all the contingency plans for Sectionals that she had made in case Mercedes happened to fall ill—Rachel would graciously take her place—or Finn not arriving—give Noah his solo and get Brittany to rework the choreography—had prepared her for this.

She was just turning the corner to the hall—that was helpfully labeled with directions to the restrooms—when it became apparent something wasn't right. No one was around, it was eerily quiet and then the fact she was suddenly being manhandled and thrown through an open door, her sixth sense was way past tingling.

Of course, she'd been in this situation before and when the door slammed behind her, Rachel quickly spun around the face her assailant, who was leaning against the door.

"Santana was that really necessary? While I admire your flare for the dramatic, I'll have you know I would've been happy to speak to you without you dragging me into this…" Rachel trailed off and looked around at an enormous amount of boxes stacked around her, "where are we exactly? I'd imagine a storage room of—"

"Berry, I'll find a roll of duct tape and seal your trap shut if you say another word."

There was a brief pause of silence—where Santana breathed a barely audible sigh of relief at the quiet and Rachel tried her best to follow the order—when not surprisingly Rachel cracked.

"I would just like to say that this whole situation is extremely unsettling and I find it hard not to let my anxiety manifest itself in streams of intellectually woven rhetoric. Also, I don't believe I can be held at fault for such a reaction, since associating with you has had the residual affect of unwittingly entering into a James Bond movie. Recently, I even entertained the thought of sweeping my house for listening devices."

Santana rolled her eyes and stepped forward, smirking when Rachel immediately stepped back. "Can it, Berry. We're here to talk about your grubby little hands being all over my girlfriend."

Rachel felt her nerves leave instantly and she huffed in annoyance at the accusation. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and it was her that took a step toward Santana this time. For her part, the Latina just looked confused and mildly interested.

"You can't blame that on me, Santana Lopez. Brittany is a tactile person by nature and since you're being ridiculously obtuse at the moment, I'm the only one around her to offer her that type of support."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I don't care about the reason for it happening, I just want it to stop."

"Well, unfortunately that won't be happening until you get over yourself and stop playing with Brittany's emotions like they're tied to an end of a string."

Rachel was gesturing wildly with her hands, looking like—for lack of a better description—a human tornado in a dress. Santana didn't look intimidated though, really the Latina never looked intimidated, much to Rachel's chagrin.

"A yo-yo, Berry," Santana exclaimed suddenly and Rachel realized the girl was all set to ignore everything she'd said except the one thing she could nitpick. "The metaphor is a yo-yo. Shouldn't you know that? Aren't those like your thing?"

Rachel scoffed at the insinuation. "Actually, what I said was technically a simile since I employed the use of like instead—"

"I've decided I'm shoving your ass inside a box instead. Then I can employ my own use of like and say you're like a man in a box," the Latina growled and Rachel's eyes widened in fear that she desperately tried to shrug off.

"Don't be ridiculous, Santana," she laughed loudly until the cheerleader started stalking towards her with a sinister glint in her eye. Rachel immediately jumped backward. "Stay back! I'm well versed in the art of pepper spray. I took a class at the Lima Community Centre and I'm warning you I'm armed and dangerous!"

The tiny Diva quickly scrambled to pull the tiny pink pepper spray canister from where it was hanging on a chain around her neck hidden by her dress and aimed it at Santana. Finally her fathers' gross overreaction to her first kiss at music camp was coming in handy.

The Latina stopped and started shaking her head. "Put that shit down, Mighty Loud and tell me what Brit told you about me."

Rachel lowered the canister slowly—incase this was a ruse of some kind to lull her into a false sense of security—before her face suddenly transformed into a beaming beckon of happiness.

Santana took a giant step back and shuddered at the sight but Rachel didn't seem to notice, already lost in another inevitable ramble. "Your adoration for Brittany really is your most admirable quality, Santana. You should show it more often, preferably without threatening me first. I think—"

"Berry," Santana growled and Rachel's mouth snapped shut immediately, "you got three seconds."

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and huffed in protest. "Fine. I was merely trying to encourage you to embrace a more emotionally enriched lifestyle. There was no need to—" Santana reached over and grasped the pepper spray container that was still hanging around Rachel's neck, yanking it so Rachel stumbled closer, the proximity making it easier to turn the spray so the nozzle faced Rachel's way. "What I meant to say was that Brittany has already forgiven you but is still concerned about the next time you boorishly drop her by the wayside when problems arise."

Santana dropped the container and stepped away much to Rachel's relief. The Diva quickly shoved the item back under the collar of her dress before she looked up at Santana, who was pacing a few feet away from her.

"I don't mean to do it," the girl whispered, and even though Santana wasn't looking at her Rachel decided the comment was meant for her anyway.

She forced down the urge to smile—a mistake she wasn't about to make twice—because this was what friends did, well, threats aside. Rachel suddenly had the overwhelming urge to help, not just Brittany but Santana as well.

"Well, if you're serious about getting her back…" Rachel trailed off and Santana looked up at her suspiciously, considering Rachel Berry never willingly interrupted one of her own rants. "That means we won't ever be in this situation a third time…"

Santana rolled her eyes and gestured with her hand for Rachel to get on with it. When the Diva didn't listen, Santana reluctantly sighed, "Fine."

Rachel clapped her hands in excitement, ignoring the murderous look on Santana's face in reaction to her enthusiasm. "Ah, excellent. I think I might have a satisfactory plan to help you."

"Oh it better because if it doesn't I'm planning on killing you so and me and Brit can have lots of comfort sex," Santana supplied, smirking devilishly.

Rachel's eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. "No, no, I assure you Plan C will be widely unnecessary."

"Suit yourself," the Latina offered with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. "I think it would've been pretty fun."

* * *

Everybody was in the green room once Rachel had arrived, well except for Quinn, who Rachel was set on ignoring until Sectionals was over anyway. It was essential—now more than ever—because New Directions' survival depended on Rachel concentrating all her efforts on the task at hand, intentions that Quinn had the uncanny ability to destroy.

"You leaked the set list. You don't want to be here, you're just Sue Sylvester's little moles," Kurt yelled and Rachel's eyes widened because the dissension amongst the ranks was worse than she thought.

She quickly walked over toward the wall beside Kurt, leaning against it and silently looking up toward the ceiling for help; wishing for Mercedes—who just seemed to want to follow Kurt's lead of glaring at the Cheerios—to take the lead. Rachel couldn't do it, not alone, not when nobody listened to anything she had to say.

When Rachel looked back on the action, she spotted Santana staring at her just as Quinn walked in, stealing Rachel's attention instantly.

"I know for a fact that's true. Sue asked us to spy for her," the blonde agreed and Rachel shut her eyes again, trying to clear her head of Quinn long enough to figure out what they were going to do.

There was an offended scoff—Santana—Rachel imagined she was glaring at the blonde too before the Latina's voice filled the room. "Look, we may still be Cheerios but neither of us ever gave Sue the set list."

"Well, I did," Brittany said softly and Rachel's eyes snapped open to seek out her friend, probably her best friend actually, "but I didn't know what she was going to do with it."

The rest of Glee was instantly up in arms and Rachel watched Santana try to fight off the urge to strike back with something scathing. The cheerleader looked over at Brittany and not surprisingly—at least to Rachel—Santana turned back to the rest of the club much calmer.

"Okay look, believe what you want but no one is forcing me to be here." She started to walk towards Rachel, while still in full command of the room. Rachel watched on in equal parts awe and jealousy. "And if you ever tell anyone this I'll deny it but I like being in Glee Club, it's the best part of my day okay. I wasn't going to go and mess it up."

Santana was sitting in the chair beside her now and Rachel looked at her carefully, remembering all the heated conversations—arguments—they've had over the past couple months before smiling.

"I believe you," she said and quickly looked away to put her attention on everybody else. In a span of seconds she took in everybody's faces: some angry, Brittany being just confused and all of them worried, except for Quinn. She was all of those things but she also looked hurt too—which made sense after yesterday of course—but Rachel just wished that the blonde would meet her gaze, if only once. When it didn't happen, Rachel reluctantly tore her eyes away and back to the task at hand. "Okay look guys, there is no point in us arguing anymore. We have to go on in an hour."

"And we have no songs," Tina pointed out, almost resigned to failure and it made Rachel angry. Everybody just looked like they were giving up and that was not the way Rachel Berry did things.

"Perhaps I could improvise some of my deaf poetry jams," Artie suggested, looking around for people to agree.

Rachel sighed, what was wrong with these people? They'd all been through much tougher circumstances than this—and admittedly Rachel was flirting with the possibility of giving up after the Jane Adam's girls wheeled themselves off the stage—but she was sure they could still do this now.

"No," Tina answered when nobody else did, shaking her head.

Finally Rachel had had enough. Finn might not be there so she could vicariously use him to rally them altogether, Mr. Schue had never really been good at encouraging them anyway and Mercedes, well, clearly the responsibility was too much for the girl. But Rachel was determined to make sure all that didn't matter.

"No, " she exclaimed and hoped she wasn't imagining the tiny bit of faith that began swirling throughout the room, "look we're going to do this the right way. Lets start with the ballad. Mercedes, do you have anything else is your repertoire?"

She looked at the girl on the couch, silently pleading with her to cooperate. It seemed like her request was filled because the singer looked up seconds later.

"Yeah, but it's not as good as anything you're going to sing," Mercedes admitted with a resigned sigh.

Rachel knew this was her moment to take her solo back because she could see it. The pressure to perform something spectacular on the fly was getting to the other diva. Rachel's heart was beating excitedly, as she imagined the lights and the crowd but then she remembered. Mercedes hadn't received the solo because she was the better balladeer; she'd received it because the group needed her to have it.

And if there was anything Rachel put above herself, it was winning. She couldn't take it—no matter how much she wanted to—because right now the club desperately needed the morale that had them out of their seats giving a standing ovation just days before.

"No, we agreed," Rachel said with a slight nod until she decided that wasn't convincing enough.

She was walking toward the couch Mercedes was on, ready to persuaded her to sing another solo, when the girl abruptly stood up.

"We agreed that I would sing, _And I'm Telling You_ and that ain't happening." Mercedes was now right in front of her and Rachel just stared at her, wondering what exactly her fellow diva was trying to say. "Look Rachel, the truth is you're the best singer that we've got."

"As much as it hurts me to admit it," Kurt cut in and Rachel glanced at him, still too stunned by what Mercedes had said to do much more than that, "and it does, she's right. Rachel's our star, if anyone is going to go belt it on the fly, it should be her."

They were complimenting her. Well, Kurt was his usual catty self—refusing to personalize and directly give her validation in anyway—but Rachel knew it was hard for him. They were really alike in that way but what Mercedes said was a real acknowledgement.

Rachel smiled at them both—probably the most hideous smile she'd ever given, it wasn't showface enough at all—and her eyes landed back at Mercedes. "Well, I do have something that I've been working on since I was four."

Mercedes laughed and Rachel looked at her, surprised that she seemed genuinely amused. Rachel was about to thank her when her attention was immediately drawn elsewhere.

"Then I guess we have our ballad and we can close with _Somebody to Love_. It's a real crowd pleaser."

Quinn.

This ignoring her—might but probably not returned—feelings idea was definitely not working. The blonde just had to speak and Rachel would be thrust into a hazy frenzy where she couldn't do anything but think about Quinn. It certainly didn't help appease the feeling the blonde was talking directly to her—smiling at her even.

Of course, then Noah came up behind Quinn and the fog dissipated extremely fast. Even Brittany had said Quinn stared at Noah, it was a 'will they, won't they' for the ages—she'd watched enough episodes of _Friends_ —because she felt it important to know everything there was to know about her namesake—to recognize the classic signs.

"Yeah, that and a can of soup will guarantee us third place. We still need another song we can all sing together."

Everybody's smiles were wiped away, even Quinn's—which Rachel personally thought was a travesty, since the blonde didn't smile a lot these days—and Rachel wasn't sure what to do.

"I have one." It was Finn. Rachel had to blink just in case she was imagining him but he was still there. "I found the sheet music online, used the Cheerios copier to make copies and then I trashed the thing." He'd even printed his own sheet music that he carelessly threw onto the table in front of Matt. "Mike, Matt, Brittany, Santana, you're our best dancers. Figure something out and we'll all follow your lead."

"It's going to be choppy," Mike exclaimed, looking around at the others around him.

Finn smiled. "Good, we're best when we're loose."

Rachel was busy looking over his song choice and admittedly it was a good one, exactly the song she'd imagine Finn would choose: _You Can't Always Get What You Want._ Rachel glanced up at Quinn and thought about how true the sentiment was.

Sighing, Rachel reluctantly looked back at Finn—as he continued on with his pep talk—silently hoping that someday soon she'd figure out what to do about those sad hazel eyes that she just couldn't forget.

With a shake of her head, Rachel set about the task of encouraging Finn so he'd perform at the level he was capable of. "It's good to have you back, Finn."

He smiled at her and Rachel smiled back because if anything she was happy he'd shown up. When Finn started talking to Jacob, Rachel zoned out again because Quinn had moved into her eye line just behind the two ex-friends.

Noah and Finn were in a stand off and when Finn refused his—admittedly lack-lustre—apology Quinn just looked so guilty when Finn's eyes fell on to her.

"Finn I…" she mumbled, her voice cracking with the weight that she might never make this right again.

Rachel stepped forward, her foot straying toward the blonde once again, but then Finn slipped in front of her doing that half smile thing that used to make her swoon. When Rachel subtly leaned to the side to look around him, she realized Quinn was already over with everybody else and she reluctantly returned her attention back to Finn.

"You okay?" she asked softly while trying to hide the resentment inside of her the best she could with a smile.

His eyes were shining in a way that made her breath catch; he hadn't looked at her like that for a long time: since her disastrous makeover and his reunion with Quinn. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry because she'd been waiting for this moment for so long and it had finally arrived. He was looking right at her—she finally had his attention, all of it—and it was too late. It had been too late for a while now and Rachel had no idea how she was going to tell him.

"…this is your chance, don't screw it up."

Wait, what?

He'd been speaking this whole time and…oh gosh, the solo.

How had she forgotten about the solo?

* * *

The solo, how could she forget about the solo? That was all that was going through her mind for the past half an hour. Being preoccupied made it extremely hard to rehearse the new song and choreography along with everybody else, especially when she was charged with teaching Finn's two left feet to appear somewhat rhythmically inclined. Thankfully, Rachel Berry was a master multitasker—a must learn trait when living a frenetic lifestyle such as her own—because she wasn't sure how she would've made it through otherwise.

Finn's attention was making her uncomfortable and more than that Rachel just hadn't had time to prepare as well as she would've liked. But, even a seasoned performer such as herself was allowed a few moments of anxiety, especially with circumstances as they were. Because when Rachel said she'd been working on something since she was four, she hadn't actually meant she'd ever it performed it in front of anybody before. Her fathers and her stuffed monkey, Lithgow—a consolation prize for Daddy when Sally Solomon was nixed off the list of her potential namesakes in lieu of Rachel Greene—notwithstanding, since they were all incredibly bias towards all her endeavours.

Still, this was what she'd been waiting her whole life for and Rachel was sure that she just needed a couple minutes alone to regroup her bearings. She turned toward Brittany to tell her she was leaving when something hit her from behind. The tiny brunette shrieked as she felt herself falling, just barely able to get most of her body out of the way of the table next to her except the side of her leg that collided with the corner.

"Rach!" Brittany yelled and the blonde was quick to her side, gripping her arms in an attempt to pull her into her lap. "Are you okay?"

There was a groan next to her and Finn sat up with a slight frown on his face, wondering why nobody was worried about him until Santana walked over to slap him in the back of the head.

"Great job, Dumbass. You're lucky her head missed the table," the Latina barked, hitting him once again for good measure.

"S, I think she hurt her leg," whimpered Brittany as the tall blonde carefully turned Rachel's leg to the side to inspect the large scrap on the top of her calf.

Rachel immediately looked up at the cheerleader, trying to reassure her as best she could with a smile. "It's okay, Brittany. I have no doubt I'll be fine. I after all packed a First Aid kit for an instance such as this."

"Oh, Rach, I'm sorry," Finn yelled, scrambling closer so he was looming over them both. "I tripped and I…you're not really hurt are you?"

This time not just Santana rolled her eyes. Even Finn's number one fan—Kurt—seemed to see the idiocy in the comment.

"Does she look fine, Ginormous?" Santana scoffed when everybody else seemed to be standing around staring at the blood trickling down Rachel's leg. "God, get the kit, RuPaul was talking about."

Surprisingly, Quinn shot up from the couch and started off toward the big bag Rachel had dragged on the bus with her this morning. It was big, blue and argyle—not very hard to find.

"Good, Juno will put her skills as an illegitimate mother to good use and take care of the midget. The rest of us are changing into our costumes." When nobody started to move, Santana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did I stutter? Let's go. Now!"

There was a sea of commotion and the room was literally a ghost town within seconds, all except the two blondes and Rachel. Brittany seemed reluctant to go, even when Quinn returned with the kit, so the tiny Diva looked up at her and smiled.

"Brittany I assure you, I'll be fine. It's just a scrape, I promise."

The blonde cheerleader nodded and slipped out from behind her. She was running to catch up with the rest of the club when Quinn kneeled down beside Rachel.

"I guess I should clean it first," Quinn whispered and started shifting things around in the red container looking for what she needed.

"You don't have to do this, Quinn. I am quite capable of doing it myself. My fathers were incredibly inept at first aid when I was growing up so I've become very efficient caring for myself in that regard."

The blonde's head shot up and she quickly shook it. "It's okay, I…um…it will give me a reason to stay behind from the rest."

"Surely you'd rather be around Noah or others that you actually like. Actually, I think I see him waiting for you down the hall," Rachel commented, looking in said boys direction as he stood leaning carelessly against the wall a little ways away.

"I know," when Quinn noticed Rachel's gaze had returned to her, she elaborated, "he's always around waiting."

The tiny brunette smiled softly in response because Quinn just looked so tired. The urge to hug her was swirling dangerously in her chest and Rachel quickly shook the need away. She had to focus on Sectionals and her solo and winning…

Rachel watched Quinn retrieved the item she was looking for from the box and rip it open in one fell swoop. "I'm positive Noah's just worried about you, Quinn,"

"Well, he shouldn't be," the blonde said lowly—almost in a frustrated growl—and Rachel swallowed down the flare of heat manifesting in her cheeks. "I'm fine."

Rachel tried to sit perfectly still as Quinn set to work but it was hard, especially with the blonde's finger tips ghosting across her skin. Thankfully, the sting of the peroxide helped, if only a little.

"Forgive me…" Rachel trailed off in a wince and Quinn looked up with a challenging tilt of her head before tossing the cotton ball in her hand away. The tiny brunette immediately tried again, "Forgive me for saying but I find that hard to believe when you're willingly spending time with me to avoid people you actually tolerate."

The pregnant girl looked to be debating some type of cream but quickly shook her head, placing it back where she'd found it. Rachel was about to ask what it was, when Quinn looked up at her with a small smirk.

"I tolerate you, Berry. Just not all the time." At Rachel's skeptical look, Quinn sighed. "I can't go with them, everybody hates me and I'm sure you do too."

"Hate you?" Quinn just nodded and Rachel laughed. "Don't be absurd, Quinn. While I don't agree with the majority of your choices that doesn't give me grounds to hate you. In fact, if I was going to hate you, I think that given our history this would be the last instance I'd site for just cause."

The blonde retrieved a _Band-Aid_ and was playing with the wrapper, almost nervously and Rachel couldn't figure out what she had said. It wasn't everyday—never—that one got see see Quinn Fabray look like this. "You said that before that you don't agree with the choice I made…" the blonde said softly, still not looking up from her hands.

"Yes, I might have mentioned it but a difference in opinion doesn't mean I hate you for thinking differently." Rachel had been on the other side of that too much in her life to do it to anybody else, unless her career was involved in someway of course. "It is true for the club too. They'll come around."

Quinn laugh darkly before leaning over to put the bandage on Rachel's leg. "I doubt that."

"Yes, well, faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase. You just have to go on hoping things will be better, or at least that's what I've gathered from the less than ideal experiences in my life to date."

Quinn looked up at her and whispered, "Thank you."

Rachel nodded—deciding not to put too much stock on this odd conversation in fear of scaring the blonde away—and moved to stand so she could inspect the bandage to make sure it was properly sealed. When she turned her attention back at Quinn, the blonde was now fiddling awkwardly with the First Aid Kit and the uncharacteristic demeanour instantly charmed Rachel once again.

"I should be thanking you," the tiny Diva gestured down toward her leg in explanation, "and as I said before, you don't have to go through this alone."

Quinn didn't say anything, just shut the large red case and stuffed it back into the Diva's hideous travel bag.

Smiling, Rachel decided this was a good enough foundation as any to start…something with Quinn Fabray. The blonde wasn't exactly gay and was having another man's baby but Rachel at least held hope for friendship. First she had to win Sectionals though…the solo.

Oh no, how had she forgotten about the solo again?


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Rachel registered the loss of applause and the bright lights that put stars in her eyes, she was wrapped up in the overly jubilant arms of Finn Hudson backstage. His grip was so strong and he was spinning her around; when he finally put her back on her feet the world still continued to spin for a little bit.

"That was so awesome. It was almost better than football because we might win," he exclaimed, large grin firmly in place as was expected.

The tiny brunette shook off the stab of annoyance at Finn's lack of faith in them and once again his abhorrent need to put that ridiculous sport above everything else. It wasn't hypocritical of her—even when performing was first in her life—because unlike Finn, she had the skills to take her somewhere. She followed Finn Hudson enough in the past—regrettably attending all of his pointless football games—to know high school was as far as his football career was ever going to get.

"There is no doubt that we'll win, Finn. My solo was magnificent…" Quinn shuffled in behind them, the sight of her reminding Rachel of the bright hazel eyes that called out to her as she rejoined the group after her ballad. Only Quinn wasn't looking at her this time and Rachel glanced back to Finn's expectant gaze with a small shake of her head. "My solo was magnificent and the team's overall performance was stellar. We have nothing to worry about."

She hoped.

_You Can't Always Get What You Want_ was a little disjointed—which was to be expected after only an hour's work—but the vocals were there. _Somebody to Love_ should've more than made up for it and her ballad was definitely the best of the night. Though the judges weren't exactly qualified—despite the fact that she was sure her Daddy was thrilled to be in the same room as Rod Remington, his favourite news station co-anchor—they had to see passed the glitz, glamour and heartstrings the other teams were using as a smoke screen for lack of talent.

"You know, Rach, you're right and we couldn't have done it without you." He smiled that half smile that she fell for so many times before; the one he always used when he was trying to be charming. "You were really great out there and you were really great through this whole thing with Quinn and now that she and I are—"

"Finn, I don't—"

"No, I need to say this," he interrupted and Rachel bit her lip anxiously, knowing what was coming next. "I know the last date we went on I really messed up but this time I want it to be different. I—"

"Finn, please don't," Rachel sighed and she nervously played with the ring on her finger—a Hanukkah gift from her fathers' last year—before looking up at him. "I fear you've misinterpreted my actions somewhere along the way because I have no intentions of being anything other than your friend, Finn."

The boy shook his head, his face scrunching up in utter confusion. "But you were all over me and now I'm not with Quinn so…"

Rachel looked away, partly out of shame but also because she really didn't want to hurt him. Despite continuously letting her down, Finn really was the first person to ever make an effort to get to know her; he was the first person that ever wanted to be her friend. She wished she could still like Finn back, even a little bit but when she looked at him all those feelings were gone. Quinn had literally stolen them over night. Her heart was prone to fluctuating in its desires rather frenetically and a new obsession meant that everything else fell to the wayside: Finn was expended the moment she'd gazed into Quinn's eyes that day in the cafeteria.

The tiny brunette looked up—giving Finn the type of look (filled with lots of sorrow) she knew he didn't expect—and she was about to take a step forward to put a placating hand to his arm, when somebody jumped her from behind.

"Rach! You were great! Just like that scary woman that looked like she was going to eat me!" Brittany yelled joyfully and Rachel slowly turned in her hold so they were facing each other, her back to Finn.

"Brittany, I've told you a thousand times, Barbra Streisand is not a cannibalistic being!" At Brittany's small frown, Rachel sighed. "She's not going to eat you."

The cheerleader suddenly went contemplative, her eyes turning even more glassy than usual but then she quickly snapped out of it. "She is kind of old. I could totally out run her while she went to get the Ketchup."

Rachel opened her mouth to comment when Finn cleared his throat rather obnoxiously behind them. "Um…Rach…we were kind of talking and…"

"But I'm better than you," Brittany deadpanned with a small shrug, "and talking to you isn't fun like I am."

The tiny brunette turned around to look at Finn, biting her lip in an attempt to stop the giggle from erupting from her mouth. He looked so frustrated—on the verge of another kicking and punching tantrum—and Rachel knew she couldn't leave this anymore. Leading people on, well, Finn taught her how that felt and she wouldn't be culpable in that, even with him.

"Brittany, I need to speak with Finn but I'll come talk to you after. We can occupy ourselves in a friendly game of Travel Checkers on the bus ride home."

The blonde Cheerio's face brightened before it quickly turned disappointed. "But I only know how to play normal Checkers, not when they're travelling."

"It's the same, Brittany. The pieces are just smaller," Rachel assured and the blonde was back to smiling again.

"Okay!" she yelled and was joyfully bouncing away to places unknown.

Rachel shook her head and turned back to Finn, who still looked like a recently scolded child. She sighed.

"Finn, I fear if I don't make this completely clear, you'll get more hurt in the end and even though I thought we'd reached an understanding, it's obvious we haven't. I just want to be friends. Any romantic interest I had in you has long since disappeared after what you're insisting is our first date."

His fist clenched, his face got red and it wasn't hard to figure out what was coming next.

"But that's not fair!" he cried and when his eyes whirled around Rachel suspected he was looking for something to hit. Thankfully, the part of the stage where they were located was sparse in way of objects. "You're punishing me for not wanting you when you wanted me. You're not even giving us a chance."

Rachel just refrained from an anger-fuelled outburst in defense of herself. Finn was hurt, he was trying to rationalize the situation and her irritation would only make said situation worse. Rachel took a couple deep breaths until she felt she was calm enough to continue and then she tried to appeal to Finn once again.

"I'm aware that the circumstances are not ideal but I cannot force myself to like you again, Finn. That isn't fair to either of us and the fact we are having this conversation only proves that we're just not right for each other. If we have to force a relationship this much, it isn't where either of us should be. I'm sorry, Finn but I am only interested in friendship. I understand if you can't—"

"Yeah, well, I can't," Finn responded with a petulant shrug, trying his best to pretend she wasn't hurting him.

He always had to appear unbreakable, internalizing his feelings until he was kicking and punching unsuspecting inanimate objects. Rachel sighed; she knew this was bound to happen. She suspected a girl had never really rejected him before, as Quinn never outright said the words. The blonde had just sabotaged the relationship from the outside in. That betrayal coupled with this was going to be a lot to bear. The part of her that didn't want to lose him almost changed her mind and then Quinn's awed gaze during their performance flashed through her mind. Her heart sped up, a rush of heat swept through her and she knew she couldn't.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Finn," she said slowly, trying her best to make sure her breath didn't hitch but she was sure her tearful eyes gave her away anyway. "I hope you'll reconsider because it will hurt to lose the first friend I ever had."

"I won't," he exclaimed with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

Rachel nodded and with a dejected smile, she walked away. She didn't need to look back to know that Finn had a heartbroken look on his face.

* * *

"Jesus, Berry, my throat feels like I just deep-throated a Mack Truck," Santana groaned.

She fell back onto Rachel's bed, not caring when the tiny brunette's carefully selected sheet music—organized by genre in piles—whooshed up in that air and scattered all across the room. Rachel gasped like she'd been shot through the heart and quickly darted around to catch the papers still in mid-air while Santana massaged her injured body part with an amused smirk on her face.

"I cannot believe you, Santana Lopez," she screeched and said girl burst into laughter when a sheet of music landed on the tiny Diva's head. Rachel growled and ripped it off. "I spent hours painstakingly organizing these to ensure our time utilization was above average in efficiency, as we had to work around your claim of a hectic schedule. Now this sets us back—"

"Whoa there, Bridget the Midget, you callin' me a liar?"

Santana pushed herself up on her forearms, glaring and Rachel rolled her eyes. "I suppose I am. We both know your personal life is at dire straits with Brittany ousting you from hers. What could you possibility have to do so early on a Sunday—"

_Sloppy babies, sloppy. Imagine my horror and unimaginable disgust when yesterday I asked for handstands and half of your stomachs were smacking you in the face._

"Shit," Santana mumbled, bouncing off the bed and this time unintentionally disrupting the papers Rachel had been able to catch and stack back into piles.

The Latina looked around with wide eyes before dashing to her bag near the door. Rachel looked on confused as Sue Sylvester's voice ranted on, this time about the humanity of euthanizing overweight minors until Santana dug her phone out of her bag and held it in front of her face.

"Santana, I'm utterly confused as to why Sue Sylvester's voice is ranting from your phone—"

"Fifteen minutes! Bitch gots to be kidding me," the Cheerio groaned and simultaneously sprinted out of Rachel's room, the demonic woman's voice following after her.

_You think waking up is hard? Try waking up in the arms of a middle-aged fur-mangled Bulgarian with 'Coochka' tattooed on your behind. That's hard._

Rachel pursued her guest…and the Coach Sylvester-styled ring-toned phone until she spotted Santana at her door looking out the window.

"Santana what are you doing? We're not finished practicing and your eccentric choice of ringtones aside, I cannot let you leave when you're definitely not nearly ready enough to execute my plan up to the standards that I believe Brittany deserves, especially after everything you—"

"No choice, Berry. Sylvester's calling a weigh in and this ringtone," she holds up the phone, the Sue-like voice threatening to cane— _yes we cane_ —any Cheerio that showed up late, "was negotiated when Figgins refused to pay to build her a _Bat-Signal_. It doesn't turn off until I'm on the field."

"That does seem quite a lucrative demand for calling a practice and I don't yet understand how she'd manage to hold a practice during the day when—"

"Shut up, RuPaul. Now look outside. Make sure nobody important is watching." At Rachel's puzzled look, Santana rolled her eyes. "You didn't think I'd actually walk out of here in the light of day, did you?"

Rachel sighed, looking mildly hurt then mostly angry and huffed in protest until Santana held up her phone. The countdown was at ten minutes—her house was five minutes away by car—and Sue Sylvester was once again chanting:

_Yes we cane. Yes we cane. Yes we cane. Yes we cane._

Throwing her hands up dramatically, she stomped outside—making a show of obnoxiously looking around the deserted streets, only spotting her neighbour watering his lawn—and then turning back to Santana. "Coast is clear. Nobody of upmost importance to you is within viewing distance. Proceed if you dare."

Santana rolled her eyes and quickly shot out toward her car. Before getting in, she turned back and Rachel looked on questionably before the cheerleader said, "You're not totally useless. Just short, annoying and loud."

The Latina had long since driven away by the time Rachel went inside.

* * *

The day had arrived for Santana to win Brittany back with Rachel's marvellously thought out plan that was both brilliant and wholly superior to any Santana had previously come up with. Rachel bounced into the school—her outfit perfectly tailored with enough purple to be uniformly supportive of her friend's (Santana was a maybe) gay love—and hurried toward the choir room.

Everybody was there, Santana and Brittany withstanding since Rachel's plan had Santana somewhere alone talking with Brittany elsewhere. Finn was guarding over the trophy like it was his big shiny child and he paused his fawning to glare at her, as she expected he would. She answered back with a smile—kill them with kindness her Daddy always said—and went to sit next to Kurt and Mercedes in the gathering of chairs they'd pushed off to the side to make room for their upcoming performance.

The two were gossiping about the correlation between Cheerios and Mono, Rachel wasn't too interested. Tina and Artie were on the other side of them, speaking to each other with shy smiles, and Matt and Mike were near the piano playing what looked like _Rock, Paper, Scissors._ Mike was losing badly. And then there was Quinn—who looked to be in her own little world across the room—cradling her stomach and staring at the whiteboard while Noah was talking about something Rachel had no doubt the blonde wasn't hearing.

She'd spent many-a-night wondering why she was drawn to Quinn like never before because the sadness had always been there. Swirling in her eyes, a dark entity shadowing over their brilliant hazel colour. It was most definitely as much there as it was the day Quinn tried to steal her gold star stickers in kindergarten. The only difference was now it wasn't hiding anymore and holding on to the last dredges of hope that this obsession was all a recent development was better than the alternative.

With Quinn Fabray, she needed that option.

Said blonde's gaze suddenly shifted and those eyes—the ones that Rachel had just been mentally transcribing—were staring directly at her, almost like they were privy to her thoughts. Rachel swallowed and Quinn bit her lip, the eye contact went on until Brittany flounced into the room with an exasperated Santana following closely behind.

The Latina looked at her and shook her head and Rachel rolled her eyes. Luckily, she'd planned for Santana's complete inability to be emotionally vulnerable—it was after all the most prominent trait of the sociopathic mind—and had the cheerleader practice accordingly. Rachel would've went with Plan B in the first place but the interruption of their practice time left her feeling a little nervous about Santana's abilities.

Brittany took the seat beside her and Rachel gave Santana a discrete thumbs up, indicating their other plan was a-go. The Latina scoffed, which was to be expected—since she had been adamant about her dislike of this plan to begin with—and also another possible reason why this idea was cast to the wayside until now. Still Rachel was sure that the girl was desperate enough to fall in line, just this once.

When Santana leaned against the wall near the doorway, Brittany laid her head on Rachel's shoulder with a soft sigh. It instantly captured the tiny Diva's attention. "It'll be okay, Brittany. I have the upmost confidence that everything will work itself out in the end," Rachel assured with a small nudge of her shoulder.

The blonde cheerleader didn't say anything and Rachel frowned, reaching out to grasp the girl's hand for reassurance. When her eyes made their way back to Quinn's, they looked different but not entirely unfamiliar. She'd seen Quinn angry many times before and then the hazel eyes were gone, onto Noah.

Sighing, Rachel turned to say something to Brittany when Santana's voice interrupted, "McCurl is turning the corner of the hall."

Everybody rushed into position and they did the little reveal of the trophy. Finn used his enormous body to hide it and Artie, of course and then Rachel was wheeling the boy forward, trophy in hand. And Mr. Schue looked so happy. He actually laughed, which with everything that had been rumoured—Sue Sylvester announcing it over the PA—to be going on in his personal life, it was a rare sight to behold.

"I am so proud of you guys. You won fair and square. The result was unanimous and the judges didn't even know about all the shenanigans going on behind the scenes. So congratulations, you earned this."

Everybody erupted in applause and for once, they were all on the same page. It definitely wouldn't last and she'd probably be to blame. Her rejecting Finn would probably be the cause of the most tension and Kurt and Mercedes being jealous of her talent would not stop because of a win at Sectionals. And she knew who she was and nobody in this room really liked her all that much, except for Brittany. Still it was nice while it lasted.

Mr. Schue was talking about Regionals and his surprising determination to begin preparation was enough to momentarily distract her from the overall plan.

"Uh wait, Mr. Schue, there's once more thing," Noah said from behind her and Rachel just remembered her cue.

"Since you weren't able to be there to see us perform, we put together a special number just for you!" Finn brought over a chair and pushed their teacher down into it, so she melodically added, "Take a seat."

Santana was whispering to Brittany and the blonde's head quickly looked over to hers to which Rachel nodded, smiling softly. Brittany's eyes lit up instantly and she was bouncing in excitement as the band started to play.

It wasn't until the second verse of _My Life Would Suck Without You_ , when Rachel faded back (instead of staying up front) and Santana stepped forward that the plan commenced. Everybody was surprised—Kurt's eyes looked ready to roll from his head—but Santana sang the verse (with Finn) anyway.

And Rachel knew it was a risk—showing Mr. Schue what a commendable voice Santana had—it was the last and final reason she avoided this plan to begin with but long after Mr. Schue ran off to catch Miss Pillsbury—when Brittany jumped into Santana's arms—Rachel knew it was worth it. They really were the perfect words for Santana to sing and the hopeless romantic in Rachel overcame her competitive nature, just this once.

_Maybe I was stupid for telling you goodbye_

_Maybe I was wrong for tryin' to pick a fight_

_I know that I've got issues_

_But you're pretty messed up too_

_Anyway, I found out I'm nothing without you_


	15. Chapter 15

Rachel was wrapped up in her handmade gold star quilt, perched comfortably amongst the many pillows on her bed with Lithgow seated comfortably in her lap. Her fathers were out picking up Chinese, a mundane task Rachel opted out of so she could instead upload the (father) recorded video of her ballad to her _MySpace_ for the entire Berry clan to see.

Her cousin Leon and his wife Amy were messaging her every five minutes asking for an estimated time on its arrival to the web and her Aunt Robin had called earlier to inform her that she expected a text message the moment the video was available. With the lack of support she got at school—Mr. Schue was trying to ruin her career, if he said any different he was a big fat liar—it was nice to have a few people on her side.

Nobody in New Directions had bothered to say anything about her ballad besides Brittany and to a lesser extent Finn, since he only said something in an attempt to charm her into a date. She had been selfishly hoping for the fanfare equal to a _Tony_ Award win but a simple friendly acknowledgment of her efforts would've been fine too. At this point she was starved for any recognition from her peers because she was still desperately hoping to be fully apart of the group one day.

Thankfully, her family never failed to disappoint. They were her biggest fans and at a drop of a hat any Berry would be there for her no questions asked. It was a small group—only her cousin Leon, her Aunt Robin and her fathers—but she'd come to realize that was all she needed.

They had lost a lot of people when her fathers had chosen each other. Her dad's family refused to acknowledge him: his brothers, his sister and his parents. Cousin Leon was the only one to go against the family's wishes but then his decision to follow his heart and marry a Catholic girl—instead of the Jewish bride chosen for him—had gotten him ousted too. For Daddy, he'd only had Aunt Robin long before he'd met Dad in college. Their parents had died in a car accident when her daddy was just sixteen and they'd lived in foster homes until her daddy was legally old enough to care for the both of them on his own.

Rachel knew it upset her fathers that they couldn't offer her more because of decisions they made but she was telling the truth when she said it was enough for her. Lately things had been hard though, with her daddy's new job and the long stretches when he wouldn't be at home that made Dad angry. But they were both home now to support her and Rachel hoped it would be enough for things to start to get better.

Shaking her head, Rachel's eyes snapped to her computer when the melodic chime of an email reached her ears. She rolled her eyes, thinking her cousin had finally resorted to spamming her inbox, but was surprised to see a _MySpace_ message notification instead.

Rachel hesitated all of three seconds—because it was probably another Cheerio catching up on insulting the videos they'd missed—before she clicked the message open.

_I'm your biggest fan, Gary Coleman. It kills me that you think you're talented. I'll be deleting this in an hour so there isn't an electronic evidence trail of our contact. Brit's coming to your house. Kick her out so she'll come back here for kinky celebration!sex. Oh and you didn't make me want to stab my eardrums out with a pencil today. Give yourself a gold star!_

The Diva found herself smiling, despite the overall condescending tone to the message. Unless she was Brittany, that was as good as she was going to get from Santana. At least the girl had said something—only moderately insulting—about her performance.

With a small sigh, Rachel left her laptop— _Don't Rain On My Parade_ upload still pending—and made the trek downstairs to pack the sugar cookies she'd promised Brittany on the bus ride home. Amazingly—since Rachel had actually won the first five games—her bubbly blonde friend was ruthlessly proficient at the game of _Checkers_. Once Brittany had talked her into betting for cookies—her sugar recipe vs. Brittany's mom's vegan chocolate chip (Mrs. Pierce grew up vegan by choice as well)—Rachel proceeded to lose...seventeen times in a row. She'd been hustled out of all the sugar cookies in her entire house; even the secret emergency stash her dad started hiding in his office after Daddy went on a cookie bender when his favourite team lost _The Amazing Race_.

Rachel had just retrieved said secret stash when there was a knock at the door. She left the _Tupperware_ container on the kitchen counter and went to answer it. Brittany was bouncing around outside, dressed in her Cheerio uniform as usual. Rachel absently wondered if she wore it to bed too, since she'd never seen the girl without it.

"Hi, Rach!" she exclaimed with a bright smile, as usual.

It was the most surprising thing about their friendship. Once you were in the blonde's circle of friends, she was vivacious and kind, smiling all the time. Her patented deadpanned indifference just disappeared the moment she saw a friend. Being one of the people that Brittany trusted made Rachel feel more special than the blonde would probably ever know.

"Hello, Brittany." She smiled and held the door open wider for the girl to make her way in. "I assume you're here for the cookies?"

The blonde girl nodded and watched Rachel shut the door. "I'm going to be hungry later. San and me are having all nighter sex."

Rachel shuddered, the visual of Santana's previously described 'kinky celebration!sex' was making her extremely nauseous. There was just so much skin and rubber and…Santana. The montage was chillingly heinous.

"I believe you just succeeded in giving me enough unappealing thoughts that I'll succeed in cooling down my libido until I'm twenty-five," she choked out before scrambling to the kitchen.

Brittany followed after her with a large smile. "Welcome."

The brunette quickly scooped up the cookies and held them out, the routine thankfully expelled Santana from her head. Brittany took them and cradled the large container to her chest, her eyes twinkling in a way Rachel hadn't seen for a while.

"I must admit it's nice to see you happy again, Brittany. This time I hope you'll make Santana speak about her problems before she resorts to preposterous shenanigans once again."

The cheerleader nodded while simultaneously rushing the tiny brunette until she had her wrapped up in a hug, giant cookie container between them and all. "San's always been my best friend but I think I can have you as my best friend instead because S and me are girlfriends for real now."

Rachel pulled away and looked up at Brittany, her eyes filling with tears because she had a best friend; something she honestly gave up hope of ever having. "Thank you, Brittany, I don't know what to say."

The blonde's eyes squinted and her lips pouted, being ever so cutely confused. "But you always have something to say, even when nobody else does."

Rachel laughed, a full belly laugh fashioned purely from a place of sheer happiness and nothing else. Then Brittany was laughing, not because the situation was particularly funny but because she didn't want to be left out. And they were laughing together in each other's arms, looking utterly insane, when Rachel's dads returned laden down with bags of the best—only—Chinese food in Lima.

"Rach, honey," Hiram said cautiously while his husband placed the food down on the counter, "you're not sick are you? Because this is exactly what happened when you drank all that daytime _Nyquil_ …"

Rachel pulled away from Brittany, their laughter stopping abruptly at her father's interruption. "Dad why would—"

"Are those my cookies?" Leroy interrupted with a screech, his deep brown eyes zeroing in on the container in Brittany's grasp. "Brittany, where are you going with my cookies?"

The man managed a step towards the blonde but Rachel quickly stepped in front of her, blocking his view of his beloved snack. "Daddy, I'll make you more. _The Amazing Race_ ended for holiday break, remember?"

He opened his mouth to argue but then deflated somewhat with a nod. Rachel and Hiram blew out identical sighs of relief—Brittany looking on completely carefree as usual—before Leroy straightened up again, eyes wide. "What about _Dexte_ r? It's on for two more weeks! What if he snaps and takes out LaGuerta like in the books?"

Hiram stepped forward with a placating smile. "But, sweetie, you don't even like her. You called her a power-hungry two-faced no good tramp just last week."

Leroy deflated again. "You're right, I really don't like her."

Hiram nodded, absently pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Will Brittany be staying for dinner, Rachel? We were going to use the time to speak about your birthday plans—"

"…after a personal and very detailed play-by-play of your performance, of course," Leroy added and Hiram sent him a look of thanks for helping him side step a comment rich for a Diva moment.

Rachel beamed at her daddy for being so considerate, and was about to thank him, when Brittany snapped back into the conversation. "It's your birthday, Rach?"

All three Berrys looked at the blonde Cheerio and Rachel nodded. "Yes, this Sunday actually."

"Really?" Brittany's eyes lit up and she clapped her hands excitedly. "I can plan you a party. We can invite all of Glee and it will be awesome, I promise!"

"That's a wonderful idea, Brittany," exclaimed Leroy, both he and Rachel brightening at the mention of a party; looking almost as enthused as Brittany in an instant. "You can have the party on Saturday and Hiram and I will make ourselves—"

"You can't be serious, Leroy?" Hiram huffed with an exaggerated wave of his arms. "There are boys in that Glee club and one of them was already irresponsible enough to get a girl pregnant. I will not—"

"But, Dad…" Rachel whined—only wincing slightly at the mention of Quinn—before making sure her eyes got big and glossy with the perfect lip bite to really sell the fact she was going to cry, "I finally have friends I can invite and I've never been to a real party before. It would be exponentially safer to experience such a feat on my own turf, right?"

The shorter man looked at his daughter, running a hand over his ever-thinning brown hair and sighed. "I suppose you can have a few people over…"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Rachel screeched, before jumping into his barely ready arms. She then turned to Brittany with an excited look. "We must start planning immediately, I think—"

"Rach," Brittany interrupted with a small shake of her head, "you can't plan your own birthday party. I'm doing it for you and you don't get to help any."

"But…" Rachel tried but then Brittany narrowed her eyes in a pretty good imitation of Santana. The tiny brunette pouted. "Fine."

"Yay!" Brittany squealed, hugging her container of cookies to her chest once again, so they could safely jump up and down with her and Rachel.

Leroy and Hiram both smiled brightly at the excited girls, happy to see their baby so happy. That was when Hiram remembered the food cooling on the counter. "Brittany, dear, will you be staying for dinner?"

The blonde looked over and shook her head. "No, I have plans with Santana. We're going to hav—"

"…hang out." Rachel rushed to interrupt, eyes wide and wild and desperately hoping neither of her fathers guessed what Brittany was going to say.

"Okay…" Hiram said slowly, looking between the two girls before shaking his head, "that's too bad. Just remember you're always welcome."

Brittany nodded, looking confused about what was going on before shrugging and turning back to Rachel as the tiny brunette walked her to the door. When the blonde finally departed after a few exuberant waves goodbye, Rachel sighed in relief. If there was one thing that could be said about Brittany, it was that the girl had less of a filter than she did. Shaking her head, Rachel quickly darted back upstairs—while her dads were still busy opening dinner—to quickly check the status of her video. Dislodging the screensaver took a couple seconds and then…it was uploaded! Smiling, she jumped onto her bed—her knee just missing Lithgow's head, something she quickly apologized to him for by cradling him into her chest—and eagerly checked her comments because the Cheerios couldn't have possibly tainted them yet.

There was one from Leon congratulating her on looking beautiful and sounding like an angel, another long one from Amy—who was a fellow Barbra enthusiast—so she'd need to read it when she had a little more time and then there was…

_You take my breath away, Rachel Berry. Every single day._

It was her.

Her cheerleader was back.

* * *

The party was in full swing and everyone had shown up. Rachel suspected they were just afraid of disappointing Brittany—which in turn angered Santana—but she was having a good time all the same. Rachel was also moderately drunk from the punch that Brittany had given to her, so that too helped a lot.

She'd switched to water an hour ago and was watching Kurt and Mercedes sing a duet from the couch: _Could I Have This Kiss Forever by Whitney Houston and Enrique Iglesias._ Mercedes must've picked it out. Mike and Brittany (Santana was there to 'accidently' throw things at Mike) were engaged in a _Dance Dance Revolution_ battle to the death and Puck, Finn and Matt were failing miserably at pool. She tried not to look in the corner where Artie and Tina were last making out.

Her daddy was nice enough to let her use the basement—fondly dubbed his man cave— for her party. There was pretty much every possible thing a teenager could want down there, even one like Rachel Berry who loved listening to his extensive vinyl collection when she need to smile. And it seemed she wasn't the only one who liked the classics because Quinn was tucked into the armchair in the corner with a pile of records in hand. Rachel stood up and slowly made her way over. Quinn didn't notice her until she sat against the wall adjacent to the filled shelves, stretching her legs out until her toes touched the leg of the armchair.

"That's my daddy's favourite," Rachel said softly, gesturing to the record in the blonde's hands. "Most of the critics say it's B.B. King's worst live album but Daddy likes it because it has character. We sing the _The Thrill is Gone_ every year on his birthday, even though it's horribly inappropriate for such a celebration."

Quinn bit her lip and hastily put the record back on top of her pile, so carefully almost like she was afraid she was going to break it. Rachel smiled, for once not saying anything and she was greatly rewarded in the end.

"My father doesn't approve of music unless it fits into the Gospel genre exactly but my sister used to play all sorts of records for me when my parents were out at their high society parties and she had to babysit me."

Rachel nodded. "I suspected your musical tastes were skewed a bit older, ever since I saw your audition for Glee—"

"The auditions were closed, Berry and you're certainly not tall enough to look through the window of the door," Quinn scoffed and her eyes narrowed when Rachel just rolled her eyes, brushing off the insult more easily than usual.

"I assure you, I am very much tall enough to look through that window and I resent the implication that I'm not." At the blonde's questioning look, Rachel sighed loudly before sharing the secret to her resourcefulness. "Lauren Zizes will do anything for a _Snickers_ bar, Quinn and has quite the camera selection."

"Of course," the girl laughed sardonically with a shake of her head, "and not even as insane as I was expecting too."

Rachel huffed and brought her legs up so her chin was resting on her knees. "I'm tiny so I must've shimmied myself through the ductwork and into the choir room ceiling."

"Yes actually, that was exactly what I was thinking."

Quinn's eyes sparkled momentarily before the twinkle was gone. Rachel smiled, looking at the blonde with soft eyes that surprisingly the pregnant girl met. Quinn's were still a twisted mix of shaded hazel but they weren't looking away, something that had Rachel's heart almost beating out of her chest. And then a giant shadow tore those eyes away. The tiny Diva's fists clenched and she turned to look up at the only colossal being she knew.

"Finn," she said lowly and the crack that Rachel was able to wiggle through in Quinn's defences had just disappeared before her very eyes.

The boy was looking at her like she was a team member in a huddle as he called out a play. Finn was going for one of those passes, a long Mary or something close to that. Clearly, the football facts her dad had taught her to 'woo' Finn were long lost and forgotten.

"Rach, hi," he mumbled, using his large hand to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly, "do you think we could talk for a sec?"

Rachel opened her mouth to tell him that she was already talking to Quinn but then said girl jumped up incredibly fast for her current pregnant state. "Yeah, we're…Man Hands and I are done."

The tiny Diva sighed when she watched the girl scurry away to the mohawked dumbass making obscene gestures with a pool cue. The Glee Club still wasn't being very forgiving to Quinn unfortunately. Rachel was again selfishly thankful for Santana's interference. When she looked back up at Finn, teetering uncertainly in front of her, Rachel reluctantly pushed herself up and led him up the stairs, away from the noise. She wouldn't put it past him to hit something and if anything downstairs got broken, she'd die at sixteen. The living room was quiet and most of the stuff in there would stand up to an attack or was easily replaced before it was even missed. As long as he didn't go for the photos on the fireplace, Rachel would be fine.

"What is it, Finn?" she asked softly, while perching herself uncomfortably on the edge of an otherwise very comfortable sofa.

The boy straightened up until he seemed to realize he was looming over her and slipped in on the couch beside her. Turning to her, he uttered, "I thought about what you said and I think you're right. We should be friends because I'm still really messed up about this whole Quinn thing and I haven't really never had a girlfriend before, so I think I was just scared to be by myself, you know?"

Rachel nodded, smiling gently to show that she did. When he just continued to look expectantly at her, she sighed. "Yes, Finn. I think that makes perfect sense. I'm not sure why I didn't suggest it before."

He seemed to be contemplating what she said and the tiny brunette mentally berated herself for being flippant with him. The comment would only make things worse and she knew that. It was just she was talking to Quinn—finally—and he had ruined her chance.

"I knew you'd understand," Finn exclaimed and was smiling crookedly at her again. Rachel repeated her nod, just to be safe. "So I think we can be friends and then later we can try to date again when I'm ready to be—"

"Wait," Rachel interrupted, putting her hand up in case she had to physically stop him because she just needed him to stop talking before she did something she would—maybe—regret. "Date again? Finn, I don't see us dating ever. I'm not sure how to make myself anymore clear."

His face scrunched up in that stupid way it always did and that rather mean thought alone let the tiny Diva know how angry she was getting. She pleaded with herself to stay silent for as long as she could…until Finn ruined it by talking again.

"But, I don't understand. You said you wanted to kiss me and then you did and I know you liked it just as much as I did because you kept kissing me until I…left. I would've chosen you but—"

"But what, Finn?" Rachel said darkly, her hands clenched hard enough to almost allow her nails to break the skin of her palms. "That day was a mistake. I shouldn't have pursued you, I shouldn't have kissed you and you certainly shouldn't have kissed me back. It was probably the biggest mistake in my entire life and I don't know how else to tell you but to say that I'd go so far as to wish it never even happened. We can't be together, Finn and if I've implied any different since I told you I just wanted to be your friend, I really am sorry. If you keep pursuing me like this, then we can't be friends at all and I don't want that. Please just be my friend, Finn."

The boy looked sullen, sunk in on himself with his shoulders hunched over and his head down. Rachel bit her lip, feeling the guilt swimming through her veins and she desperately wished things could be different. He was holding onto a kiss that was built on lies and deceit. If she never kissed him, none of this would be happening.

"I just want a chance," he sighed, looking up with sad eyes, "I know we can work, if you'd just let us."

Rachel had finally had enough. She just needed to get real far away from there.

"I can't, Finn," she sighed and quickly jumped from the couch to make a clean getaway.

"But—"

Rachel turned back. "I have feelings someone else."

And then she was practically running to the backyard.

It wasn't until she was outside and staring at the stars that her breathing slowed. They were like little beams of light, the end of tunnels with their bright shine being the good in an otherwise dark world. Closing her eyes, Rachel tried to recall the better times to replace all the bad of tonight. Thoughts of her family fluttered through her mind and she was finally relaxing little-by-little when the backdoor open and shut. Rachel tensed and was too scared to turn around.

"Oh, Teeny Tiny, your Sir Shrek went home," Santana said disinterestedly with what Rachel imagined was a quite blatant roll of her eyes.

Rachel sighed and spun around, her body sagging onto the railing of the deck. "What can I do for you, Santana?"

The Latina strutted closer on her own personal runway before breaking out the signature Cheerio—one hand to hip—pose. "Well, now that you and B are best friends," she scoffed with another roll of her eyes. Rachel briefly found herself hoping the age old—it will stay that way—parental scolding would be true in Santana's case. "I'll be using the basement more often, preferably without you in it."

Rachel was too tired to argue, so she just shook her head and said, "Very slim chance of that happening."

The Latina glared for a moment before shrugging her shoulders and surprisingly moving on. "Fine. I'll find a cage to lock you in eventually but not why I'm here. Your plan was passable and owing someone is not the way I work, so I'm going to fix that shit right now."

Sighing, Rachel tilted her head to the side, begrudgingly somewhat interested. "I've already made it quite clear to you that you will never owe me anything if you continue to keep to your promise to never be completely insensitive in that way again."

"Not good enough, Berry." Santana paused, her smirk falling away, and she actually looked to be thinking until the smirk reappeared just as quickly. "The best way to get even is to retaliate, so that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"What could you possibly think would warrant retaliation on your part?" Rachel exclaimed, tiredly pushing herself upright in hopes that it would at least give her a fighting chance.

"Advice, Mighty Mouse. Take notes if you need to because I'm only saying this once." Santana took a breath, looking almost pained at the thought of helping Rachel but that wasn't going to stop her. "Take Jockstrap up on his offer. Be his fun-sized football girlfriend and enjoy a life free of slushies and by association popularity. Oh and make sure you're on top when you finally do the deed. He'd probably suffocate you with his fifty-three pound head and his large doughy middle."

Rachel's eyes widened in complete surprise. Santana must've been listening before but if that was true than she'd heard…so much that she shouldn't have. Rachel hurried to rectify what little she could. "Santana, I assure you that—"

"I know, it's Fabray," the girl supplied, her smirk widening the more fearful Rachel appeared, "and Berry that's never going to happen. Not the way your pathetic little heart wants."

Rachel was silently panicking. Santana knowing, she couldn't know. No, Rachel wouldn't let her, not now when Quinn's actually being somewhat nice to her. She wouldn't allow it and all she has to do was talk Santana out of it. The bullying was already bad enough, it was do or die and the tiny brunette felt faint.

"I don't have feelings for Quinn, Santana. I'm not sure where you've received your information but—"

Santana rolled her eyes, again. "Please, Polly Pocket. All you do is stare at Juno like you want to bring her back to your tiny playhouse and fuck her all over your little furniture until she cums on your miniature sheets. It's so obvious that—"

"You're lying! I am an exceptional actress and such amateur tells would not be found in the craft of a seasoned professional such as myself," Rachel fretted throwing her hands up in the air to emphasize every other syllable of her speech.

"Excuse me?" Santana was looking at her like she belonged in the mental ward and Rachel huffed in indignation at the suggestion, even if it was still a silent one. "You're fucking looney tunes, Yosemite _._ I tell you, you have a big ol' gay crush on the school's pregnant celibacy queen and you focus on what that says about your acting skills?"

"Well, yes, only because I'm quite aware you're lying. You couldn't have possibly known, even Brittany figured it out because of Quinn…wait, Brittany informed you of this, didn't she? That's why you know. I knew my skills as an actor were on par with the award winning greats. I cannot believe I actually doubted such a thing. I am wholly—"

"Shut up!" Santana screamed, reaching up to cover her ears in a way she wouldn't have done if she were sober. She'd punch Rachel in the face if she were sober. "Yes, she told me. Now stop talking before I grab the closest thing hard enough to make it hurt when I bash you over the head with it."

Rachel's mouth snapped shut, her eyes involuntarily drawing themselves to the flowerpot to the left of Santana's feet, but in the end she just couldn't help it. "I'd just like to say that your whole threat was highly unnecessary. I would've responded to a nicely worded—"

"Ah, that's it!" the Latina screamed with an angry flail of her arms. "I'm getting the hell out of here. Take or leave the advice, I don't really give a shit."

Santana turned to go back inside when Rachel's soft voice fluttered into the night air. "Why? I can't pretend to love somebody I don't. I refuse to live my life that way, no matter what the reason."

The cheerleader reluctantly turned back, still looking extremely angry but also quite serious as well. "Q's easy to fall in love with Berry. She's gorgeous and every bleeding heart's wet dream down to a tee. You want to be the person to fix her and she'll give you just enough to have you believing that she wants you to be that person too until you're just not anymore. Doughboy isn't much of a catch but he's—"

"No," Rachel exclaimed, her eyes narrowing while Santana's widened in surprise (momentarily) until she realized her error. "How can you truly know all that, Santana? You've been in love with Brittany since you met her at five years old. How could you possibly know that's what happens if you choose to care about Quinn? How, Santana? How?"

Rachel watched the Latina's frustration mount. They stood in silence, a stand off of wills with only the wind and Santana's bared teeth to keep them company. Rachel was tired and it had officially been her birthday an hour ago, not that anybody really cared with the exception of Brittany and maybe Santana. They all loved her basement; none of them would ever love her, even though she desperately wanted at least one of them too.

"I'm going to say something," Santana started, breaking Rachel from her overly depressing thoughts. They always got like that when she was tired, unfortunately. "Probably because I'm way drunk and not because I like you or anything, understand?"

Rachel silently doubted that because Santana didn't look anymore worse off than she did but didn't dare voice her opinion, not now. "I understand."

Santana nodded, almost silently binding Rachel to her word. "Q and I…we grew up in the same homes. Our parents are the same religion toting, oppressive people who demand perfection at everything. Their expectations are high and failure is like another Deadly Sin to them. You don't understand what it's like because your dads are all like pro-Berry no matter how annoying you are but growing up in a place that isn't like that changes you, alright? I know because I really know. The only difference is that I've always had Brittany; Q had no one. Her sister maybe, only if she was forced to stay in the house. Just trust me when I say it's easier to stay away."

Rachel swallowed, not yet sure if the information had fully sunk in. She suspected probably not. "And if I don't?"

Santana sighed, switching her hand to hip pose to put her weight on her other foot. "Her parents kicked her out. Expect her to do anything she can to get back in. Being a lady gay really doesn't fit into that whole plan, does it?"

Rachel opened her mouth to ask another question when Brittany stumbled through the back door. "Rach! My mom made cupcakes with fruit snacks on them. I made sure that they were _Scooby Doo_ this time because I told her the fishes were too much fruit and not enough snack."

The tiny brunette giggled and watched Brittany stumble back inside, presumably toward the cupcakes. Santana and Rachel followed after her, both watching to make sure she didn't trip and fall, when Rachel thought of some thing else that needed an answer immediately.

"Wait, but I thought you resided in Lima Heights? The Fabray's certainly don't live there."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Say that to scare the dumbass' that believe me. Hello Berry, my dad's a doctor."

"A pedestrian!" Brittany screamed from somewhere inside the kitchen.

The Latina smirked, as she found her girlfriend struggling with the cupcake container—almost identical to the one lent to her by Rachel—on the kitchen counter. "You mean Pediatrician, B."

The girl looked up at her and shrugged. "Same thing!"

Rachel giggled and Santana cut her eyes to her with a glare warning her to shut the hell up. Rachel of course, didn't listen. "Technically, she's right. A Pediatrician is also a pedestrian while they're on the sidewalk."

Santana proceeded to stick all her fingers in as many cupcakes as she could reach.

* * *

Brittany came bouncing into her room the morning after the party. Most of the members of New Directions went home: Mercedes and Kurt being the designated drivers. But Brittany wanted to stay, so in turn Santana begrudgingly stayed. Thankfully, that dirty cupcake defiler wasn't with the blonde now.

"Rach, I bought you a hoodie with gold stars on it for your birthday. Happy Birthday!"

Rachel stuck her head out of her bathroom door, spotting the bright pink gift-wrapped present in Brittany's hand. It did look the perfect size to be some article of clothing—apparently a gold star decorated hoodie—which she'd definitely like. They were after all, kind of her thing.

"Okay, I just have to fix my hair. Said routine has been condensed to exactly ten minutes and fifteen seconds after which we are free to retrieve ingredients for Santana's post-hangover ritual. You're welcome to wait in my room, if you like."

The cheerleader shrugged. "Okay, San will be grumpy if I wake her up by being too loud."

Rachel nodded and slipped back into her washroom. She picked up the correct brush and flipped the hairdryer on, carefully brushing out some of the natural curls in her hair. Next the curling iron to redefine the leftover curls. Then a matching headband to her dressed down jeans and t-shirt—it was the weekend after all—and a last double check in the mirror.

Perfect!

She skipped out of the bathroom to see Brittany seated at her desk listening to music on her laptop, headphones in to probably save them from the blonde's claim of Santana early morning grumpiness. When the Cheerio spotted her she pulled one of the ear buds out and smiled with barely concealed excitement. Seconds later her attention was drawn back to the screen, her grin traded for a confused frown. After a few unintelligible mumbles and some clicking of her laptop, the smile was back; this time with a succession of excited hand claps.

"Q wished you a happy birthday. I knew she liked you as much as my cat likes peanut butter cups."

Rachel's brow furrowed and she stepped closer to the delighted blonde, stopping so she could peer over her shoulder. In an instant, Rachel's world started spinning, her stomach bottomed out and her heart logged itself in her throat.

She couldn't breath.

Quinn was her cheerleader.

Gasping for breath.

Quinn Fabray was her cheerleader.


	16. Chapter 16

Like most things Rachel Berry decided to do, it didn't actually occur to her—until she was already in too deep—that she was probably making a huge mistake. Not when she tore out of her room, marched down the stairs, out the door and into her car. Certainly not for the entire drive after that either because it just never factored in to the tiny brunette's mind that maybe people weren't at the same impasse in the road but many miles behind, sometimes not even on the same track.

It came with the territory; Rachel had always known this. She'd act too quickly, push too hard and then realize the affect her actions had on the people around her during the aftermath. Her overzealousness never changed though, not really. Not even after learning all the patience needed to deal with Santana and Brittany. Rachel was still the exact same, just delayed a little.

She was still a Diva and insanely impulsive with a deeply rooted need to want things too much. It was essentially the driving force behind her easily triggered bouts of obsession and having parents that constantly told her that she could have whatever she desired most if she just reached out and grabbed it didn't help either. Not that she blamed them—for being encouraging and ultimately filling her with a scary amount of ambition and optimism for somebody her age—because they couldn't possibly be at fault for her current situation.

Sitting idle in her deceptively roomy _Toyota Prius_ —environmentally friendly and midnight blue—deep in the heart of Lima Heights (Adjacent), across the street from Noah Puckerman's humble abode. In other words, Rachel was frozen in her car, panicking. She couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to get this close because Rachel had actually managed to realize what a horrible idea this was much much earlier. She'd just momentarily forgot.

" _No, no, no, no," Rachel mumbled, stumbling back from the computer until the back of her legs hit the side of her bed._

_It just couldn't be Quinn. Brittany was obviously mistaken, which was to be expected. The Cheerios did enjoy the anonymity of very similar names. Besides, Rachel had seen Quinn's MySpace name before the whitewash of individuality to avoid Principal Figgins' detection. She was always the one with the most hateful words, even worse than the majority of Santana's daily insults._

_Brittany jumped out of the chair frowning, maybe in an attempt to figure out what was going on. Her look didn't go away, so the blonde cheerleader still hadn't figured it out yet._

" _Rach? Are you okay? You look like really white and sound like I do after Cheerio practice." Rachel just looked at her, trying to figure out what the girl was saying in her oxygen-deprived haze. "Santana says I should always walk around with my hands on my head because—"_

" _It's not, Quinn," Rachel forced out and Brittany's frown lines deepened. "You must be confused with somebody else."_

_Then the blonde's face brightened and she moved a little bit closer to Rachel with a smile that would've been infuriating if the tiny Diva didn't feel like she was sinking deeper and deeper under the surface of complete terror._

" _But it's her. We weren't supposed to know anybody's names because not knowing would make it impossible for anybody to know. That was what Coach Sue said but I was confused about what to do so S and Q helped me because S said we couldn't make fun of you anymore if we didn't…" Brittany trailed off, frowning again. "Sorry."_

_Rachel whirled around, her vision clearing somewhat, enough for her eyes to zero in on Brittany's. "No, you're lying! It's not her. It can't be…" she cried, waving her hands in the air and taking rather big gulps of air in between._

" _But…Q's favourite number is ten. She told me. That's why she picked it. I picked seventeen because that was when San—"_

" _It can't be her!" It was said way too loudly and then Rachel deflated in front of Brittany's earnest eyes. "I'm not ready for it to be her."_

_The tiny Diva collapsed breathlessly on the bed and the blonde Cheerio looked on worriedly just as Santana burst through the door, hair wild and eyes as sharp as knives._ " _God damn it. It's still freakin' morning, Billy Bass. It's too early for your annoying voice to make it anywhere near my ears."_

_Brittany clapped and then giggled. "Billy Bass like the singing fish. I lost mine one day. He must've gone back to the river."_

_The blonde then proceeded to sing the infamous song while Santana grumbled something about a hammer and it being too annoying to live. When Rachel dropped her head into her waiting hands, Brittany stopped singing and both girls turned to look at her._

" _What's with you, Thumbelina? I wasn't planning on burning your clothes in revenge for waking me up until later."_

_Rachel didn't answer but Brittany did. "Quinn said Happy Birthday to her on MySpace."_

_Santana laughed, shaking her head as she made her way to the computer chair. She sat down before whirling around to look at Rachel with a dangerous smirk._ " _So what happened? Blondie gives you a little attention and your panties get wet? Reel yourself in Half-Pint, it's pathetic even for you."_

_Brittany's eyes snapped up to Santana's and the Latina rolled her eyes but refrained from twisting the knife any further. She watched begrudgingly as Brittany sat beside Rachel and reached over to grab her hand._

" _Don't be scared," the tall blonde whispered._

_Rachel mumbled something into the heel of her hands and Santana sighed loudly. "Speak up, Berry. Actually, I can't believe I'm going to say this, but take your damn hands away from your face."_

_The Diva did as requested seconds later and looked between the two girls before her eyes dropped to her lap. "It's not the first time."_

_Santana narrowed her eyes at the news while Brittany started waving her and Rachel's joined hands excitedly._

" _Yay!" the blonde exclaimed while Santana shook her head._

" _You're telling me Fabray has done this before?"_

_When Rachel nodded, the Latina whirled around toward the computer, quickly bringing up the page Brittany has left opened. When Rachel realized what she was doing, she straightened up at an almost breakneck speed._

" _Santana, I must request that you refrain from going through my personal emails. I do not appreciate—"_

_The Latina barked out a laugh, not sparing Rachel a look when she said, "Tough luck, Winky. You can't put shit out there like that and not expect me not to look at them. It's your own damn fault."_

" _Did you just insinuate a Harry Potter reference?" Rachel's crisis was momentarily forgotten for the mind-boggling news that a girl like Santana enjoyed reading something as perceivably uncool as Harry Potter._

" _Santana made me wear glasses like his once while we were—"_

" _Brit!" Santana growled, turning away from Rachel's laptop to give her girlfriend a reproachful look. "Berry doesn't need to know that."_

_She then whirled back around to look at the screen. Rachel giggled and Brittany winked playfully in her direction. It was times like these that Rachel believed that Brittany liked the lack of accountability afforded to her when pretending to be unintelligent._

" _She has a hat too," the blonde whispered and both girls continued to smile, giggling softly, until Santana turned back around, surprisingly not to defend herself._

" _That lizard baby has hard-boiled Q's brain." The following laugh sounded very much like a cackle, something that Rachel found extremely entertaining. "You take my breath away, Rachel Berry. Oh my God, kill me now."_

_Rachel huffed at the mocking tone and then her eyes went softer at the words. They were the nicest things anybody had ever said to her; all the messages were just so wonderful. She smiled shyly as she imagined Quinn whispering them to her while wrapped in her arms…_

" _Oh, no," Santana yelled, snapping Rachel out of her daydream rather heinously. "B, slap her right now. Berry, you are not doing what I told you not to do, are you?"_

_Brittany looked confused and thankfully didn't hit her. Unfortunately, the lack of 'tough love' got Santana up on her feet, so Rachel quickly tried to abate the situation. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Santana. I was sitting here the entire time. I couldn't possibly have done anything to necessitate a threat of violence, not that I believe in advocating violence in any circumstance for that matter. This attack is completely unwarranted."_

" _So you weren't just frolicking into the sunset with your dearest Quinnie while a band of whistling woodland creatures were_ _hopping merrily around in colour coordinated bow ties according to their gender?"_

Rachel answered back with a disgruntled exhale of air, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes in on Santana's as well. " _I resent such an accusation. I sound drugged for goodness sake, or at the very least intoxicated in someway, and I'd never be careless enough to self-medicate to the point of vivid hallucinations. Besides, even if I was imagining a similar scenario, which I absolutely was not, it is no business of yours, Santana Lopez. As I told you last night, you don't know how this circumstance will turn out and regardless of what I do I'll—"_

" _You don't shut up, do you?" Santana groaned exasperatedly, her head pivoted up to the ceiling._

" _Why are you fighting?" Brittany asked, looking between the two girls in front of her. "We shouldn't be fighting. We should be helping!"_

_Both brunettes glared at each other for a split second longer before Santana turned to her girlfriend. "Helping who, B?"_

" _Each other," she deadpanned, like it was completely obvious._

" _But Brittany, I am quite capable of handling this situation myself," Rachel said loftily before her eyes cut back to Santana. "In fact, I've already decided what to do while being forced to listen to Santana's childish whining about—"_

" _Oh hell no." The Latina took quick steps toward an ever retreating Rachel, who had just scrambled over to the other side of the bed. "Get back here, RuPaul. I'll leave my earrings on to beat your midget ass!"_

" _Well, you'll just have to wait on that because I have somewhere to be." Rachel then leaped to the door, turning back once she felt she had ample distance to make a clean getaway. "Please feel free to borrow any of the assortment of earrings I have in my jewellery box, since at the present time you're wearing none at all."_

_What came next was a battle cry—almost rivaling that of an ever infamous warrior princess—before Santana launched herself towards the Diva, only to be caught in mid air by Brittany and slammed back down to her feet. Rachel's eyes widened, suddenly realizing that she'd just provoked a could-be killer, and she quickly darted out the door._

_The last thing she heard was Brittany calling after her to come back._

And now Rachel knew why. She wasn't ready for this. She'd said as much but she was too angry with Santana to remember that until she was parked on the side of the road, finally able to calm down long enough to breathe.

It was just, she spent a lot of her time thinking about Quinn—about her feelings, what they meant, how they happened—but never about being with Quinn. Rachel had taken the safe logical bet—that she'd spend high school pining from afar and then years later she'd be able to fondly remember when—but Quinn being her online admirer took that all away.

She'd known Quinn Fabray for almost all her life and the girl was classified as the bane of her existence accordingly. Only recently—when their attempts at conversation were just too abysmal to watch—things had started to slowly change. Sure Rachel was optimistic about that—and actively sought out situations where she could put herself in a position to talk to Quinn—but that was just talking. Rachel could handle talking—when her chances at anything with the blonde were slim-to-impossible—but Quinn being the one that had anonymously made her heart beat out of her chest on countless occasions was something totally different.

Since the whole correspondence began, Rachel had consciously painted a picture of who she'd thought it would be. A blonde cloaked in red, black and white with stunning hazel eyes that admittedly looked just like Quinn (Rachel had even hoped it was Quinn) but it never actually was in her mind until now. The girl that tore her down for sport was also the one that namelessly built her back up for nothing at all. Rachel didn't know where to begin in correlating the two.

It also didn't help that Quinn could hardly speak to her face-to-face. Their whole relationship couldn't be conducted online while the rest of it floundered. Not to mention all the very real obstacles she was sure Santana hadn't been exaggerating. The Latina wouldn't have shared anything so personal if it was for some elaborate hoax. For that, Rachel was definitely sure.

Suddenly, her car started to shake and thoughts of dying in an earthquake flew through her mind until the back and passenger doors were ripped open and Santana and Brittany slid in. The Latina made sure to kick her seat extra hard from the back.

"Did the Midge chicken out?" the girl scoffed and Brittany sent her girlfriend a warning look to which Santana grumbled at before shutting up.

"Don't worry, Rach." Brittany smiled at her as she moved one of her legs up to lie across the other. "San promised not to try to hit you anymore because I told her we wouldn't have sex anymore if she made you cry."

Rachel wasn't sure what to say but she needed to say something before her imagination took her to that very disturbing place it has before. "Uh, thank you, Brittany."

The blonde nodded and then Santana cut in. "So you finally admitting that I was right?"

There was a slight pause before Rachel was nodding, her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.

"Yes, I've just recently reevaluated my decision and have decided that pursuing Quinn will not be productive at this point in time," explained Rachel and Santana looked a lot less pleased than the tiny Diva had imagined. She quickly brushed it off though. "Now, I'm extremely hungry, so if you two would like to kindly get out of my car and follow me home, I'll be making pancakes."

Surprisingly, both girls listened.

* * *

Santana was making obscene noises as she stuffed pancake after pancake into her mouth. Her plate looked like a syrup lake, the pancakes were just sunken vessels underneath a sticky mess and the girl really didn't seem to mind. There were moans and groans and syrup was everywhere; Rachel tried not to look in that direction as best she could and Brittany, who was happily chewing beside her, seemed to take notice.

"San likes sugar for hangovers," the blonde explained, just as Santana turned the syrup bottle over on the new stack of pancakes she'd retrieved from the middle of the table.

Rachel quickly looked back at Brittany. "Yes, I can see she is quite…passionate about it."

"S is nice when she eats sugar. Almost as nice as after sex."

Brittany smiled at her girlfriend with bright eyes and Rachel was just happy that the two were now together, even if she had to deal with Santana more often than not. That didn't stop her from wincing at the reference to the two's personal depravity but it was almost pointless to reprimand Brittany now, when so far it was having little to no effect. The Diva decided to just move on.

"Well, we hadn't had a chance to go out and purchase her remedy list because of me," Rachel ignored Santana's rather large groan from the head of the table, "so I thought it would be the least I could do."

"You got that right," the Latina uttered, smirking before she shoved her fork in her mouth with a gleeful glint to her eyes.

"San…" Brittany said softly and Santana looked up before reluctantly turning her eyes to Rachel.

"So, Berry…you're like gaga for Stretch now or what?" the girl said, scowling.

Brittany sent a pleased smile Santana's way and the Latina answered with a gentle look of her own, her gaze then snapping back to Rachel, complete with volatile sheen. For her part, Rachel frowned, clearly not understanding the cause for the question.

"I'm not sure why you'd ask me such a thing. I already made it quite apparent to you and Finn that I had no interest in him yesterday night. So, no, I'm not, nor will I ever be, 'gaga' for Finn again."

The brunette Cheerio's fork clanged as she dropped it to her plate and she pushed the it away just enough so it was possible for her lean forward by placing her elbows on the table.

"Let me get this straight," Santana began in her usual bitchy tone, "you aren't going after Preggo and you're not going after Finnifer? I know it's hard for you to see through your pathetic delusions of grandeur but your dating pool isn't that deep unless you're prepared to snog it out in the back of whatever jalopy Puck hotwired for the night."

Rachel huffed. "Did it ever occur to you that I might prefer to be alone at the present point in time, Santana? Why must you automatically assume—"

"Please, Berry. You're as love hungry as the mangy mutt my sister fed _Doritos_ to when we were kids until I gave it my _Fun Dip_ one day and Animal Control thought it had rabies." Brittany shot Santana another look that the Latina this time ignored. "There's no way you're not latching yourself onto somebody, so who is it?"

"Santana, I already told you that—"

"Yeah, but I think you're full—"

"Enough!" Brittany yelled and both brunettes instantly backed down at the unfamiliar sight of an angry Brittany. "I don't like you fighting."

Santana looked visibly contrite, something Rachel had never ever thought she'd see. It was almost a life changing experience for the tiny Diva, or at the very least it was eye opening. Santana Lopez was totally whipped and Rachel filled it away, just in case the Latina actually did try to kill her.

"But B, she's asking for it," Santana sighed, sending a glare Rachel's way.

The tiny brunette's response was instantaneous coupled with a loud grasp. "Excuse me? I certainly was not!"

Santana just gestured toward Rachel with low growl and Brittany followed the movement with her eyes until they ended up on her friend.

"San's just mad that you are giving up so easy." Santana was ready to protest but seemed to think better of it when Brittany glanced at her. The blonde then brought her attention back to Rachel. "She likes…"

Brittany's eyes were then on Santana and the Latina seemed to get more nauseous the longer their eye contact went on until she turned that sickly gaze onto Rachel.

"Fine. I like fucking with you because you can take it, okay." Rachel's eyes widened and Santana visibly shivered before violently pushing herself away from the table. "Great. I'm going to burn your clothes now. Starting with that fugly nightgown I found when I rifled through your stuff last night looking for the portal to your mother planet."

Then the Latina was gone, not that Rachel really noticed. She was still too shocked to process anything but Santana's coerced confession, compliments of Brittany no less. When Rachel looked at her blankly, more an ingrained reaction of manors, Brittany smiled brightly.

"Don't worry, Rach. Puck's house is cold, so when San burns your grandma's clothes the heat might attract Quinn."

Rachel just gaped openly at the blonde's chosen words of reassurance.

* * *

Thankfully, most of Rachel's clothes had remained unscathed, everything but her favourite nightgown regrettably. Santana had tried to throw it in the fireplace—found out it was electric and stuffed the nightgown in the compost instead—all because she said the ruffles were making her suicidal. Unfortunately, now that the fabric was contaminated with the scraps of animal byproducts, Rachel couldn't manage to even think about wearing it without gagging. Santana claimed she was just being a humanitarian and accepted the thanks Rachel hadn't given her.

Still, the tiny brunette showed up to her and Brittany's movie night relatively optimistic because she had chocolate éclairs with her from the bakery in town. Brittany had assured her that Santana wouldn't last ten minutes until the sugar overload delighted her brain. Rachel had to agree when Santana—forcefully—relieved her of the box and had been smiling ever since.

In fact, the night was going better than expected and then Quinn had shown up, a secret invitee her blonde friend had surprised her with. That in it self wasn't horrible per say, since Brittany and the movie—Santana was still groaning her way through the box of éclairs—were more than adequate buffers for the situation. Actually it was quite nice to be honest and everything was going pretty well until the first movie ended. Brittany and Santana had left to get popcorn and never came back; leaving Rachel seated awkwardly on the couch with only a cushion between her and Quinn.

She was desperately trying to stop herself from blurting out all she knew and wanting to demand answers to the questions burning at the back of her throat. But, Rachel was nothing if not stubborn and despite Santana and Brittany's rather blatant attempt to force her hand, she refused to give in.

"I assume they're not coming back?" the tiny Diva said instead, risking a glance to her left at the blonde sitting rather stiffly beside her.

Quinn turned just slightly so Rachel was visible out of the corner of her eye. "Wouldn't you know? Aren't you like best friends forever now or something?"

Rachel sighed. This was a reoccurring thing, it seemed. She wasn't sure how she could make the blonde see that she wasn't interested in taking her friends away from her. "I wouldn't know, Quinn. All my previous movie nights over at Brittany's have not included Santana, since she was still insisting on being needlessly obtuse."

The blonde moved so she was facing her fully, sideways with her legs crossed on the couch. Rachel imagined it was more comfortable than twisting her upper body now that Quinn was visibly pregnant.

"They probably won't be coming back for a while," the girl finally said with a small sigh. "If we wait a little longer it will—"

Rachel jumped briefly at the large bang coming from the floor above her. Quinn just gestured up with a wave of her hand instead of finishing her point.

The tiny brunette blushed as the loud sounds continued. "So they're…"

A muffled scream seeped through the floorboards that sounded suspiciously like Brittany's name and Quinn just sighed and moved until she was leaning back against the armrest of the couch. "Usually I just go home but…"

Rachel smiled softly and it only brightened when Quinn adverted her eyes momentarily before bringing them back.

"I'd imagine that S _uper Mario Bros._ and crass innuendos aren't exactly the most fun to be had on any night," Rachel said playfully before bounding off the couch and to the DVD cases spread out across the coffee table. "Unfortunately there are no musicals in this selection, though I suppose you probably won't find that as tragic as I do, but Santana did pick out a wide variety of comedies. I'm sure the plot directives and acting leave little to be desired but I can assure you they are contrary to anything involving overweight Italian siblings that innately jump abnormally high."

Rachel closed her eyes and picked one up, trying not to shudder at the cover—two guys with dopey looks on their face, being complete idiots—and held it up to Quinn whose eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"If you want," the blonde murmured, shrugging in indifference. "Anything is better than listening to them go at it for another hour."

The tiny Diva looked up at the ceiling just in time to hear a string of expletives and another rather loud bang. Sighing, Rachel walked over to slip the DVD into the player and grabbed a bowl of chips on her way back. The brunette handed it to Quinn—who had been eyeing it the whole night—and the blonde accepted the bowl with a small smile.

Pressing play, when obnoxious music blared through the surround sound—thankfully drowning the vulgar noises from upstairs out—Rachel chanced a look at Quinn while the blonde was busy working her way through the bowl of chips. She really was beautiful and Rachel just felt like maybe she needed to know what she was dealing with before things progressed to the confrontation of something more.

At the very least, Rachel could chance another offer of friendship.

She just hoped that Quinn wouldn't hurt her once again.


	17. Chapter 17

Her (new) best friend had been interested in purchasing a turtle and Rachel wasn't about to let her down when she still thought this whole thing was too good to be true. So she let Brittany drag her to the mall to pick one out—as Santana was unavailable—instead of working through her Monday morning vocal exercises.

Apparently, the Latina had been chained to her treadmill since dawn because her weekend sugar binge had inflated her body mass index enough to turn on the shock collar hidden in the waist of her Cheerio uniform. Rachel was pretty sure that was at least illegal in Canada.

At any rate, in the end, Brittany decided against getting a turtle after all—she was afraid her cat would get jealous and post her diary on his online blog—and when they walked out of the pet store Rachel wasn't all that surprised (this time) to see Quinn was waiting.

The pregnant blonde had chosen a burgundy dress today, layering it with the usual cardigan, this time a light grey. Her hair had its patented side braid and Rachel's heart started beating madly until Brittany squealed from beside her.

"Q, you came!"

Quinn looked toward them from her spot on the bench near the escalator and stood up rather quickly, busying herself with smoothing the winkles in her dress out as they walked over.

Brittany had attacked her fellow blonde with a hug the moment she was in striking distance and Rachel waited patiently—awkwardly—a step behind her. When they separated Quinn's attention was on Rachel.

"Hi, Berry," she said softly before glancing around and ultimately landing back on Brittany. "Where's Santana?"

The Cheerio frowned. "Running."

Quinn surprisingly looked sympathetic for a moment before a smirk overtook her face. "Serves her right. I told her to share the pastries Berry brought instead of hording them all for herself."

Brittany sighed before looping her arm through Quinn's and moving to yank Rachel's through her other arm as well. She then moved them down the middle of the mall.

"I had to leave Tootsie at the pet shop but do you think my cat will get mad if I buy a Tootsie shirt?"

Quinn looked at Brittany confused and Rachel glanced over and mouthed 'turtle' to clue the other girl in. The pregnant girl looked somewhat lost in thought before she turned back to Brittany.

"I think that would be okay, Brit," Quinn said slowly and Rachel was eagerly nodding in agreement.

"Yes. In fact we can even get you a shirt with your cat on it as well. I know just the establishment to purchase such an item. I was actually in there last week and—"

"My cat gave me his shirt for my birthday last year. I wear it to bed on Tuesdays because…." The blonde trailed off and excitedly fished her phone out of her front jean pocket when she heard the telltale beep. Her eyes scanned it over quickly before the girl came to a complete stop, not noticing the angered glares from the people walking behind them. "San's outside. She said she needs an exercise partner but that's code for sex."

Rachel sighed and Quinn just looked bored until they realized the blonde was hurrying away from them.

"Wait!" they both cried, glancing at each other momentarily before looking back at Brittany, who had stopped.

"You can't leave, Brittany. You…" Rachel glanced at Quinn again before hurriedly looking away, "you drove me here."

"And I can't spend time with Berry alone," Quinn added and she too glanced at Rachel before turning back to Brittany. "She'll kidnap me and sell me to her seven brothers in a cabin in the woods."

Brittany shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't worry. Rach, you can drive home with Quinn and Quinn dwarves are cool. They can fit into really small spaces. I wish I could put Rachel in my pocket," said girl looked completely horrified, "so she can sing for me all the time but San said that she wouldn't like that much."

Her eyes looked far away for a couple seconds until the overly glossy sheen disappeared and the blonde skipped away, leaving Rachel and Quinn behind. The two reluctantly looked toward the other, Rachel not knowing what to think.

Neither said anything for what felt like ages. Quinn moved to grip her stomach nervously and Rachel started shifting her weight from foot-to-foot until surprisingly Quinn broke the silence.

"Listen, I'll just drive you home or whatever and…yeah. We don't need to do this," the blonde explained, gesturing in the space between them quickly.

Rachel was about to agree because she wasn't ready to do this without a buffer yet. That had happened already and Rachel had been seconds away from hugs a numerous amount of times; and all that was before Quinn's cover had been blown on _MySpace_. Rachel wasn't sure what would happen now. But then she remembered movie night and how Quinn had come just to get away from the Puckerman home; honestly it was probably why the blonde showed up this time as well.

"I agree," Rachel finally said and Quinn looked more relieved than anything but for a moment there was something else mixed into her haunting eyes, "the mall does sound like a rather taxing way to spend the day, so a ride home would be very much appreciated. You're welcome to stay as well, since you've previously told me of your desire to frequent the Puckerman residence as little as possible. I'm sure we could find something amicable to do but of course, it's up to you."

Quinn deliberated while Rachel looked on. So many flashes flittered through her hazel eyes like a mood ring fastened directly to the girl's ever-elusive heart. They were so dreamy and oh so expressive—Rachel was sure she could stare into them forever.

"Fine, Berry," the blonde sighed with some reluctance, while the smoky timbre to her voice unintentionally broke Rachel from another Quinn haze. "Hanging with you can't be any worse than with Puck."

Rachel smiled softly, going for her usual beam but only being able to light her smile up halfway, as she was still finding her way out of the fog.

Note to self: avoid the eyes if planning on living through the next couple hours.

* * *

"Are you hungry, Quinn?" Rachel asked the moment they hit the living room and the blonde collapsed down on the sofa with a small contented sigh.

Rachel imagined that moving around with the extra weight was hard on her feet. If she were braver, Rachel would've used the opening for a massage because her skills as a masseuse were greatly above average.

The blonde looked up surprised and Rachel's suspicions were answered when Quinn shyly nodded her head. The girl clearly wasn't used to being cared for—what the Barbra did Finn and Noah do in all that time with her then?

Still, Rachel was instantly charmed—even more—by Quinn's surprising shift in demeanour. Those boys were just lucky they were on Christmas Break, or not so lucky, since it gave her ample time to craft a much more extensive presentation on the proper way to treat a pregnant woman.

"Excellent. I've been looking for an opportunity to test out some recipes. Brittany's mother has been tutoring me; she's a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen. Of course, if you want something specific, I am completely amicable in attempting to feed such a craving of—"

"Grilled Cheese," the blonde said quickly, loudly even with the urgency of a life or death situation.

Then Quinn's cheeks turned rosy and Rachel's heart was in almost violent palpitations, her breath catching.

"Um…are you sure?" she stuttered out and the lacklustre sound for a loquacious girl as herself was sobering instantly. "Because I have a wide variety of dishes in my repertoire with my recent training and—"

Quinn growled, shutting Rachel up immediately. "Grilled Cheese, Berry."

The tiny Diva was nodding rapidly at the murderous gaze after even the mention of something else but the pregnant girl's chosen dish. She made another mental note; this one was a reminder to put a Grilled Cheese section in the _PowerPoint_.

"Of course," Rachel said quickly and slowly leaned over to turn on the TV. "My daddy is an avid television watcher, so there isn't a channel in the world that cannot be found on our TV guide. There are movies too in the cabinet, if you're so inclined and…I'll return soon."

The brunette handed the remote to Quinn, who managed to not look like a crazed killer out for blood when Rachel drew close. Quinn really liked Grilled Cheese, Rachel decided as she made her way to the kitchen; the flipping of channels sounding off behind her.

Thankfully, Quinn's chosen food wasn't terribly hard to make. Rachel even made a vegan version for herself; though she wouldn't dare not splurging for real butter and cheese for Quinn's.

She made a few more sandwiches than necessary, separating hers (the vegan friendly) and Quinn's on one plate. The blonde obviously had a lot more but Rachel was hoping that sharing one plate would encourage the blonde not to refrain from consuming more than one portion, much like the chips on movie night. Rachel grabbed a pitcher of water as well and brought everything out with her.

Rachel bit her lip to stop the giggle from erupting at the serious look of concentration on Quinn's face as she studied how bowling balls were made on her daddy's rather grotesque TV. It was just amazingly cute, no precious was the right word. Quinn Fabray: venomous viper, _MySpace_ wooer and closeted geek. Rachel was kind of nervous when the first one was starting not to correlate anymore.

"I come with sustenance," Rachel exclaimed and just managed to reel in the loud belly laugh that bubbled up when Quinn quickly changed the channel to a personal favourite reality show of Rachel's own.

The tiny brunette sat down on the couch, platter of sandwiches on the cushion between her and Quinn with a slight smile on her face. The blonde immediately dropped the remote from her hands and attacked the food. Rachel bit her lip again and discreetly snatched up the remote and flipped it back to the show Quinn had on before.

She was dying to say something, especially when Quinn's eyes widened when she saw the switch but Rachel just looked at the blonde and shrugged. "I'm really favourable to this show. _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_ , not so much unless you're an avid fan than I can—"

Quinn shook her head quickly. "No. This is fine, Berry."

Rachel just smiled and settled back against the couch, watching as the show moved on to…hockey sticks.

What she did for…well it was getting there.

* * *

Quinn was fast asleep by the time her dad came through the door. Rachel had almost jumped for joy when she finally nodded off, after previously discreetly crying in despair once she'd realized Quinn's show was on marathon. Not only because she was deprived of drama filled TV but also because Quinn definitely needed the rest.

Her dad came into the living room to give his usual greeting prior to going through his after work routine but Rachel quickly shushed him just in time. The be-speckled man looked down at Quinn curiously before waving and disappearing up the stairs.

Rachel knew Quinn would be mad if she didn't wake her, now that one of Rachel's parents were home and the brunette didn't want to give the blonde any reason to regress on the progress they made today. She feared that waking her would do that anyway.

It was also just a little intimidating; truthfully Rachel had been waiting so long because she was honestly hoping that the blonde would wake herself. Unfortunately, pregnancy was an energy sucker and Quinn slept like the dead, seriously. As her father's arrival approached, Rachel had tried purposely making noise in hopes that the blonde would arouse from slumber—no such luck, obviously.

Sighing, Rachel tried her best to steel herself and tentatively inched her hand onto Quinn's arm, the one she had sprawled across her stomach at the moment. Centimetres away—Rachel could literally feel the heat radiating from the smooth creamy skin—and she just went for it, kind of like ripping off a _Band-Aid_.

The skin was so soft and Rachel found herself unable to stop from splaying her entire hand along the blonde's arm, unconsciously stroking and leaving goose bumps in her wake. It was just…

Quinn mumbled something unintelligible and moved her arm away before Rachel could pinpoint the exact word. She frowned and then almost toppled over when the blonde's hand captured hers. Magnificent. Breath-taking. Wonderful. Exhilarating. Amazing. So warm and nice and Rachel's eyes fluttered momentarily until they snapped open wide when the pregnant girl started tugging her hand closer, hard enough that Rachel—in her surprise—almost fell onto the sleeping girl.

That was when she knew she had to wake her up. Sighing, Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand one more time and fiercely battled to detangle herself from the blonde's hold. Quinn whimpered softly and started mumbling again before Rachel reached up to gently shake the girls shoulder. Quinn gurgled some more words and then her eyes fluttered open. They were almost bright green and hazy from sleep.

"Rachel?" she sighed softly and moved her hand towards Rachel's again, only to abruptly pull it back seconds before their skin touched.

Rachel smiled brightly because honestly it was the first time she could remember Quinn ever using her name. "Hi. You fell asleep."

Quinn looked in thought for a moment, before nodding and pulling herself up in a sitting position against the armrest of the sofa.

"Sorry," she mumbled and quickly moved to stand, already making her way out of the living room.

Rachel's eyes widened in alarm and she jumped up after her. "Where are you going?"

Quinn whirled back around and Rachel belatedly realized that the soft vulnerable girl was gone. The blonde did this quite frequently; Rachel would definitely know the signs by now. Quinn would drop her veneer—even just for a second—and then come back with a vengeance to make sure the weakness was erased. It was a pretty inconvenient defence tactic; Rachel really knew that too.

"I'm leaving," the girl said, reaching the hall. "This was a mistake."

Rachel subtlety moved toward the door—while the blonde was distracted with her shoes—and leaned against it, waiting for Quinn to look up. Then she did.

"It wasn't a mistake, Quinn," Rachel said gently and she watched so many colours fly through her hazel eyes, "and you're welcome here when ever you desire. I want to be your friend and I think that maybe you want that too."

Quinn didn't say anything and Rachel reluctantly moved away from the door, not surprised when the blonde flew out like a bat out of hell. Sighing, Rachel tried her best to be confident in the fact that the girl would be back.

She would be…she would.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There is what some would call a (small) smut scene buried somewhere in this chapter and now that the mystery and intrigue have been spoiled, on with the show.

Rachel studied the sky from her bedroom window, its bright blue colour almost preening pretentiously under her intense scrutiny. The weather forecast for today had promised snow and Rachel huffed when there didn't look to be a fleck of snow in the sky.

Lies.

Those people at _WOHN News 8_ were all a bunch of no-talent hacks. It's any wonder how Sue Sylvester managed to procure her own televised segment when Rachel had been campaigning for years and denied her own. The residences of Lima could use the cultural shock of a Broadway themed show. Exposing the masses to such a genre by song every week—featuring her on vocals of course—would no doubt brighten days and improve citywide esteem by giving them a chance to broaden their horizons. Of course, that was all a pipe dream now with a demon at the helm of the eight fifteen time slot.

Sighing, Rachel flopped down onto her bed, staring belatedly at the swirls of her textured ceiling. The tiny brunette was scandalously bored. Her dad's were at work—again—and Brittany was indulging in 'reindeer games' with Santana, which the blonde needlessly clarified as sex while Santana yelled for more cookies and milk in the background. Rachel preferred not to know.

And Quinn hadn't come back either. Three days had passed and Rachel's offer of friendship was still left without reply. Santana was holding her favourite owl sweater hostage just incase the Diva got the urge to go back over to Noah's. Rachel could agree—begrudgingly—that the next move had to be Quinn's; it was just exceedingly difficult to give up control with something that she wanted too much. Her sweater's life (and by extension her chance with Quinn) depended on it.

She sighed again, obnoxiously loud because it made her feel better to respond to her current bout of complacency. Usually Rachel was exceptionally good at finding something to occupy her time but today—like the last few days—the drive was gone to do anything productive. Deep down, Rachel knew why but she preferred not to think about it, which was ironically the only constructive thing she'd managed to do.

Maybe she could watch a movie. There were still many in shrink-wrap that she'd been saving for a rainy day, some were bought for really any day back before she had a best friend…and Santana. Rachel raised her head up, ready to maneuver downstairs to the couch, but her motivation depleted at the last second. She dropped herself back down on the bed with an overall pitiful effort to get up in the first place.

Holidays were always pretty quiet for her, since her fathers worked long hours and Rachel was left to her own devices during the day. It was why she enjoyed the routine of attending school more than possibly any of her peers, even with the looming threat of a patented beginning of term slushie showering from the jocks.

But lately, her fathers had been working a lot more and speaking less; it was hard not to notice when Rachel worried as much as she did. There were times when they acted like nothing was wrong at all and Rachel would almost hope that the pink elephant in the room had moved on until she realized it never left. Her daddy really loved his new position in the ER and her dad almost never compromised if it was something he really wanted like her daddy being home. The possibility of an amicable solution was bleak.

Sighing, Rachel shut her eyes and listlessly threw an arm over her eyes. She started to hum the opening bars to _Don't Rain On My Parade_ when a familiar chime completely threw off her melody. The Diva paused for a moment before rolling over on her stomach to stare at the computer on her desk. She was very quickly bounding off her bed towards it in seconds.

The screensaver was gone and her email page was brought up with a quick click on her portable mouse. Rachel held her breath and…

_You make my heart sing. I hope you know that._

The tiny Diva smiled brightly because it was different this time. It was really Quinn this time, not some faceless Fabray look alike that Rachel had conjured up in her mind. She made Quinn's heart sing. Her, Rachel Berry, and she wanted to tell Quinn that the blonde made her heart sing too until another message popped up, only this one was private.

_You make my heart sing too. I took the liberty of copying the verses that my heart uses most often. Please feel free to take the lyrics to heart._

_Short people got no reason_

_Short people got no reason_

_Short people got no reason_

_To live_

_Well, I don't want no short people_

_Don't want no short people_

_Don't want no short people_

_Round here_

_Oh and if you reply something as pathetic back to Tubbers then Hootie gots to burn. That is all._

Rachel sighed, minimizing the insulting message and looking longingly at Quinn's instead. She unconsciously ran her hands over the words on her screen, before reluctantly clicking the window closed. The tiny brunette begrudgingly pulled Santana's window back up, completely surprised not by its content but the fact the Latina even sent it, since Rachel was sure the girl had better things to do then loiter on her _MySpace_.

_Santana,_

_Please search for the enclosed song underlined below in order to realize how ridiculous you sound to others around you. I was unfortunately unable to pick out verses as you so helpfully did because they were all equally relevant to this self-reflection exercise._ _Rip Her to Shreds by Blondie_ _is the perfect song for you in such an instance. Please feel free to email me back for discussion whenever needed._

_Salutations,_

_Rachel Barbra Berry_

Satisfied, Rachel clicked the window off and flopped back on her bed, staring back up at her ceiling as flashes of gold and sad hazel eyes fluttered through her mind. Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

* * *

The winter months were never kind to Rachel Berry. Her short skirts did nothing to protect her from the cold and thickheaded football jocks never missed an opportunity to bathe her in ice until there was a constant icy shiver running down her spine. But, the Berry Family holiday photo had always been something the Diva looked forward to.

Rachel had forever been comfortable in front of the camera—she could thank her father's fondness for memorializing her ever waking moment on film as a child—but vanity had no barring in her affinity for the day. Rachel liked it because her fathers would be home—every year they did some type of family activity because it varied by year depending who's turn it was to pick—and in those moments she could honestly say she was totally happy.

So it was reasonable that finding the right outfit was especially important to the tiny brunette and she was currently raiding her closet for the perfect one. A rainbow of colours and patterns consumed her bed—the rejected pile—and Rachel currently stood in the middle of a crop circle of shoes with two blouses in hand. She held up the evergreen one and her eyes then snapped over to her black horse embroidered sweater with a small huff. Rachel then violently tossed both onto the ever-growing tower of the discarded.

The task was officially hopeless because those had been her best choices. Sighing, Rachel ran a hand through her hair, clenching it briefly in frustration and then there was a knock at her door, her dad's face appearing seconds later as he opened it.

"Hey, sweetie," he said slowly, his deep brown eyes taking in the tornado of fabrics thrown haphazardly around the room. "Still no luck with your outfit for the photo?"

Rachel sadly shook her head. "No, so far my efforts have been thwarted but I assure you I'll be ready for Saturday."

Hiram nodded, as he watched his daughter reluctantly move towards her bed to start hanging the clothes stacked there back up. Rachel was resigned for another trip to the mall, hoping maybe she could get Brittany to come. She was sure the blonde would be an excellent help, since all the clothes in Brittany's closet looked nice, even if Rachel had never seen her wear them.

"I'm sure you will, honey," her dad said warmly, giving her his usual smile of encouragement, "but do you think we can maybe talk for a minute before you continue on with your search?"

Rachel stuck her head out of her closet, where she had just hung the last of the clothes from her bed up—the desk and floor were next—and nodded quickly. "Absolutely, Dad. What is it you want to speak about?"

Hiram waited until his baby was seated on her bed before taking a deep breath, tipping Rachel off that she wasn't going to like whatever her was there to say. "I know you were expecting to go to New York this year to spend time with your aunt but your father and I decided that we were going to host her here this year. All the family is going to come actually."

Rachel stared blankly at her father because honestly the words hadn't sunk in yet. Her annual trip to New York was even more important than the family picture. It was honestly all she had to look forward to for so long because it was hard not to feel suffocated in a place she knew she didn't belong. New York was her breath of fresh air and now...

"Why Dad?" she cried, jumping to her feet in order to stare the man down harshly. "You are well aware how much that trip means to me and now you're heinously ripping it away?

Hiram sighed. "Rachel, we just feel that it would be easier with our schedules and—"

"This is because of your argument with Daddy, isn't it?" Rachel gestured wildly with her hands, her voice rising to just below a shrill hysteria. "Punishing me because of your inability to compromise might seem easier to you but I assure you it's no such thing for me. I need—"

"Rachel," her dad interrupted sternly, his eyes narrowed in almost a splitting image of his daughter's, "you know better to talk to me that way. You might not understand our decisions but your daddy and I make them with your best intentions in mind. Your aunt will be arriving next week. If you'd like to talk about this before then, you're welcome to call a family meeting anytime, alright?"

Rachel just huffed and threw her body onto her bed, turning away from her dad with an angry pout. The man just sighed and quietly shut the door.

* * *

Elevator doors opened and Rachel blinked, teetering in a confused daze until the man beside her—in a suit and loosened tie—started to glare. Something was telling her this was her stop, so she stepped out and the doors immediately whirled closed behind her.

The warm red carpets and crème walls were such a comforting surprise; she had to blink again (twice) to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Greeting her was only one painting—a meadow at sunset surrounded by a chocolate frame—standing out on the wall in front of her in between the two hallways of doors. Rachel absently thought it was the perfect accessory to a well-chosen colour palette.

That same something—she affectionately referred to as her sixth sense—propelled her to a specific door. An off white door with shiny brass numbers glittering just above her head—715—she was in a hotel.

Rachel wasn't sure what to do next until a key card seemed to materialize in her hand, or maybe her attention was just now brought to it. At any rate, she slipped it in the reader and the heavy door clicked open with a beep. She hesitated only briefly before going in.

Rachel thought the room was beautiful. The crisp white sheets and autumn comforter on the bed seemed so warm and inviting to her. The romantic lighting and the mahogany wooded wall behind the large bed only complimented the whole magical aura the room projected. Most of all, the amazing thing was that behind the virginal white curtains the city lights twinkled back at her, daring her to follow.

She didn't, just because the bed seemed more tempting—like somebody had lassoed her with an invisible string and was pulling her toward it—and the need wasn't satisfied until she was seated against the headboard, the wood lightly digging into the skin of her back.

And then Quinn was standing next to her. In just a men's dress shirt that barely reached the tops of her thighs, shyly peaking at her through the hair in her eyes and Rachel was captivated. The tiny brunette instinctively held her hand out, not quite sure what she felt when the blonde took it. Quinn was getting comfortable sitting between her legs and the thin fabric of the blonde's questionable pajamas was doing nothing to hide the burning heat of creamy skin.

Suddenly, the blonde was leaning back into her and tilting her head up until almost gold eyes were looking—pleading—into the brunette's own. Somehow, Rachel Berry just knew what the other girl wanted. Slowly, she started running her hands down Quinn's arms, then teasingly underneath the hem of the shirt and the sighs came as Rachel had in some way expected, almost like she had done this before. The blonde's head dropped onto her shoulder as Quinn started to pant in her ear, goose bumps instantly spreading across Rachel's body.

She kept up with the caressing and there was nothing wrong with being a little gun-shy when she had the girl—that she might sort of, almost love—in her lap for the very first time. And it was quite apparent this was definitely a dream. Such instances were completely natural during the course of infatuation but there was always time to think about that later because her yearning to move further underneath the blonde's shirt suddenly got almost palpable.

Rachel's hands flattened against Quinn's sides, so her fingers touched just above the girl's bellybutton, and she started a slow climb. Panting was turning into tiny gasps and Rachel felt Quinn's body straining a little bit upwards in anticipation. The position made the baby bump more noticeable and the brunette momentarily stopped to caress it before she kept going.

Rachel was just below the swell of Quinn's breasts when she stopped and started to move her hands back down. The resulting sigh of frustration was delightful enough to get Rachel to start again, only this time her fingertips made the journey straight up the middle of Quinn's abdomen before she again retreated back down.

The blonde's breathing was getting heavier and the gasps a little bit louder so Rachel decided to go a little further. One hand stayed under Quinn's shirt while the other drifted down to ghost over the blonde's inner thigh. The skin was so soft and Rachel started dipping her fingers in and out from underneath the silk of Quinn's panties, getting the girl to eagerly spread her legs open wider in seconds.

"Rachel," Quinn growled but her frustration quickly trailed off into a breathy plea when Rachel moved her hands back up only this time she took the shirt with her as she went.

"Lift your arms, sweetheart," she whispered, the term of endearment rolled off her tongue effortlessly like it was meant to be there, and Quinn let her toss her shirt to the floor with relevant ease.

The blonde was grasping at Rachel's seconds later, tugging up on the material in a desperate attempt to get it off. When it didn't work, she tried again.

"Please." Quinn breathed and Rachel eagerly complied until her shirt was at the end of the bed beside Quinn's, sighing softly when the blonde leaned back into place.

Her skin felt so good against Rachel's own and the brunette's body was letting her know exactly how much she liked it, as she watched her pebbled nipples repeatedly graze against the skin of the other girl's back. Quinn must've known as well because she started moving her hips back into her with a delicious rhythm that had the Diva biting her lip as she felt herself clench.

Rachel's head hit the headboard and Quinn kept going—her ass rubbing wantonly against the brunette's panties when her skirt had disappeared in her dream world instantly—until Rachel stilled Quinn's hips with strong hands. The slight whimper in response almost made Rachel reconsider but her undeniable burning need for Quinn—to please Quinn—wouldn't be ignored.

The blonde lifted her head from Rachel's shoulder and turned it so their eyes connected for the first time since the beginning. They glittered in the moonlight and Rachel was enchanted once again, slowly leaning closer until their lips met hungrily.

"What's wrong?" Quinn panted the moment she broke away.

Even breathless, the blonde's voice was sexy, sexier since Rachel was the one to get her there. "Nothing."

The Diva didn't give Quinn any time to respond. She quickly grasped her breasts and the blonde threw her head back onto her shoulder, gasping loudly. Rachel quickly started rolling Quinn's nipples firmly between her fingers until all thoughts of protesting flew from Quinn's mind.

"Oh," the blonde gasped and her body was straining upward, franticly hoping to get the friction she desperately needed. "Oh, God."

Rachel smiled and slowly brought her lips down to play with Quinn's neck, sighing softly when the blonde collapsed back onto the bed with a content whimper. She trailed her lips over the skin, lavishing it with tiny nips that were soothed instantly with teasing licks of her tongue. Quinn was moaning incoherent sounds constantly and the Diva wanted desperately to give her more.

The blonde whimpered as Rachel trailed her hands away from her breasts, down her body and to the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. She tugged on them softly, then a little harder until Quinn was straining upward once again. The brunette just smiled and moved her hands away, the groan of frustration lasted only seconds before Rachel quickly took one of Quinn's breasts back into her hold.

God, Rachel loved how it felt in her hands: so soft and warm while the blonde's pert nipple dug delightfully into her palm. She softly massaged dutifully as she hooked her legs around Quinn's and moved them outwards, effectively opening the girl up to her further. The blonde was still panting, like she had just run a marathon, and Rachel moaned loudly at her first feel of slick silk covering the blonde's core before using her middle finger to massage there are well.

"Rachel," Quinn whimpered and Rachel bit her lip to keep herself together, her panties were literally sticking to her skin and the crisp sheets below them.

Trying to concentrate on Quinn, Rachel leaned down to kiss the blonde's neck again while her hands worked in unison to drive Quinn closer to where unfounded intuition knew Quinn needed to be. Rachel was a little nervous about that since she'd had never done this before, well to anybody but herself. But, she still had this casual confidence—feeling like she'd done this a million times before—and Rachel hoped that would be enough.

"Rachel, oh God, oh God," Quinn chanted breathlessly and that was the sign Rachel just instinctively knew to wait for.

She quickly slipped her hand under silk and the lack of a barrier—just slick wet heat—felt amazing. Rachel felt herself gush, just at the thought. The blonde's clit was waiting so Rachel didn't have to look and she pressed harder, drawing quick figure eights and sometimes nines like she somehow knew the girl liked. Quinn grabbed at her legs in a painful grip, still chanting to deities with her head turned toward Rachel's neck and the brunette twisted her a nipple just slightly in between her fingers with her free hand.

"Inside. Inside, please," Quinn gasped and Rachel hurried to comply.

She slid the hand away from Quinn's chest and quickly slipped two fingers into the blonde's heat. Quinn cried out and the brunette started thrusting, trying her best to keep a rhythm as Quinn started moving her hips up to meet her fingers.

And then all at once everything froze and Quinn screamed her name, as her walls clenched down hard around Rachel's fingers. The wetness flooding Rachel's palm had her teetering close to orgasm as well, but she tried her best to ignore it, continuing to slowly thrust until Quinn slumped into her breathing hard.

Rachel held her for a bit longer as Quinn's frantic panting started to slow, the blonde's eyes drifting closed. It was perfect and then everything started to whirl into a big mash of colour. Rachel tried her best to hold onto Quinn—to where ever this was—but it was all gone; Rachel was back in her room.

Rachel sent a frown down to Lithgow, who was happily cuddled in her arms, and shifted slightly to untangle herself from the sheets she managed to trap herself in while asleep. Such jerky movements made the pool of wetness in her panties all that more pronounced and Rachel huffed petulantly, collapsing back onto her pillow with a small pout.

She was horribly ripped from her very first erotic dream, making the whole scenario tragically one-sided. Her brief catnap dalliance with Idina Menzel didn't count, since Rachel suspected that the attraction lie in their similar looks and her fondness for narcissism when it came to her career.

Nevertheless, this dream was a milestone she wanted to record in her dream journal but instead the doorbell rang throughout the house. Clearly, the evil dream interrupter was outside her door. Rachel angrily tore at her blankets once again—the majority of them falling to the carpet by the time she was out of bed—and quickly made her way to the door. Whoever it was better wish they listened to her school board wide letter requesting an option of vegan chocolates in the school's Christmas fundraiser for the hospital or they were about to be sorry.

Sighing, Rachel unlocked the door and whipped it open, armed with a wide variety of complaints if necessary and…

Quinn.


	19. Chapter 19

Rachel was sure somebody up there had a cruel sense of humour. She'd been waiting for Quinn to show up all week and the blonde decided to show up now, after Rachel had just got finished ravishing her in her mind. The scene was undoubtedly awkward—Quinn fiddling nervously with the sleeve of her jacket, standing breathtakingly beautiful with windswept hair and rosy cheeks on her front porch—while Rachel could still feel the uncomfortable wetness between her thighs.

The silence went on until a cold gust of wind snuck its way in the door and lapped at bare skin of Rachel's legs. The temperature change seemed to break the tiny brunette through the discomfited haze.

"Quinn! What an unexpected surprise," said blonde looked up, almost anxiously at Rachel's loud exclamation, "please come in."

The Diva moved away from the door, leaning against its edge to keep it open and not crowd the apprehensive looking blonde as she made her way in. Rachel fiddled with the door for a moment longer—until it was shut and securely locked to ward off any lurking cat burglars…and Jacob Ben Israel—before turning back to Quinn.

The blonde was staring at her with an unreadable expression, her hazel eyes whirling dangerously with every second that passed. Rachel wasn't sure what was happening, since she'd never seen Quinn Fabray look so lost up close, and then the blonde blinked and the moment was over. The foreboding desperation was gone and only habitual darkness remained, lurking behind those hazel eyes just like it always did. Rachel had never been so disappointed.

"Hi, Berry," Quinn finally said with a much more confident look.

The blonde seemed to have recovered while Rachel was inwardly pouting at the loss of the diminutive window into Quinn's soul. Her façade was back and the tiny Diva supposed that a closed off but compliant Quinn was better than nothing.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel uneasily teetered for a moment before her eyes snapped up to hazel, "I wasn't expecting you, so I'm unspeakably unprepared. Can I get you something? Juice, water, some type of baked good?"

The pregnant girl's eyes brightened at the mention of baked goods—replacement sugar cookies and a batch of brownies made to keep Rachel's mind off Quinn—but then she quickly shook her head.

"No, thanks," Quinn said simply and Rachel waited for her to add something, maybe a reason as to why she was there—which the tiny brunette hoped was related to her offer of friendship—but the blonde never did.

Rachel frowned. "Are you sure? I only ask because when I asked Noah what his favourite food was some time ago, he told me it was a _Hungry-Man_ TV Dinner, which after appropriate research revealed to be an extremely horrifying meal time option."

"It's fine, Berry," Quinn sighed while cradling her stomach gently in her arms. "I swear I haven't eaten a TV dinner in my life. Scout's honour."

The tiny brunette looked dubious for only a second until Quinn looked away and was paying extra special attention to a family photo on display in the entryway. It was Rachel and her cousin Leon, covered head to toe in blue paint after her cousin's rather rambunctious Labrador Retriever knocked a paint can from the ladder onto their heads.

"That's my cousin Leon," Rachel explained, even though she was sure the blonde didn't have as much interest in the picture as she was exhibiting at the moment. "I helped paint their baby room a couple summers ago. I believe we ended up painting ourselves more than the walls when the task was finally complete."

Quinn's lips twitched and her hands started to running along her stomach in small circles before she focused her eyes back on Rachel.

"You have a nice home," the blonde said softly before she did allow herself to smile, if only a little, "and not even one gold star in sight. Colour me impressed, Berry."

Rachel easily responded with a smile of her own and diminutive shrug. "Not to worry, there's still some lurking around. I suspect you're just not looking hard enough." Quinn just raised an eyebrow and even that moment of silence was too much for a beyond nervous Rachel Berry. "Anyway, I've deducted that your purpose for being here is much more serious in nature so why don't we move into the living room? It's a great deal more comfortable than holding such a conversation standing in the foyer."

Thankfully Quinn followed after her without protest and they both settled on the sofa, much like before with a cushion between them, this time facing each other instead of the television. Rachel clasped her hands anxiously in her lap and then crossed her legs for good measure. She instantly regretted the move but refrained from adjusting her stance, since it was a clear give away to how nervous she was. The tiny brunette was terrified that the next words out of Quinn's mouth would be another outright refusal of her friendship. Rachel wasn't quite sure how she'd handle that if it were true.

Quinn suddenly looked up from her hands—that were protectively splayed out across her stomach—looking fiercely determined. It was a little unnerving for poor Rachel, who was still teetering on her thoughts of the worst.

The tiny brunette visibly swallowed and Quinn said, "I…thank you for the other day. I never thanked you and I should have."

Then the blonde's courage seem to deflate because Rachel was again watching her carefully—waiting, expecting something, anything—but Quinn just diverted her eyes to the blank television screen.

Rachel bit back a sigh. Quinn had shown up but the girl obviously had no idea or interest in telling her why. At this rate, they'd be getting nowhere fast. It was then that Rachel realized that she needed to take control of the conversation if they were to get anywhere at all.

Taking a breath, the tiny brunette briefly pondered the easier avenue of waiting Quinn out but then quickly forged ahead. "There is no need to thank me, Quinn. I can only imagine what living with Noah is like and I meant it when I said you're welcome here anytime. Of course, that begs the question of why you're here? Is this you seizing the opportunity of such an offer or does your visit have a much more specific purpose?"

Quinn shifted slightly, almost squirming against the armrest of the couch, and Rachel tired her best to wait patiently. If she screwed this up now—with a stream of nerve filled consciousness—she didn't think she's ever forgive herself. The tiny Diva decided to shift her legs underneath her instead, leaning her side gently against the back of the couch.

Finally, Quinn looked away from television and her eyes bore into the brunette, feeling like burning hot pinpricks to Rachel's skin. There was something whirling, angrily making tempestuous ripples in their hazel hue, and then just as suddenly the storm stopped. The blonde's eyes turned soft, there was an almost tangible yearning pouring out of them and then Quinn was up on her feet again.

"I'm…I have to go."

Just like before, the other girl was running for the door but this time Rachel didn't let her leave, since the brunette wasn't quite sure if Quinn would ever come back this time around. Rachel was leaning against the door, having beat Quinn there because the tiny brunette wasn't dealing with the restrictions of a baby thankfully. It was the only way she'd ever beat the ex-Head Cheerio in a foot race unfortunately.

"I'm afraid that I cannot accommodate your wish to leave because I'm honestly skeptical that I'll ever find out what this visit was meant to accomplish." The blonde was glaring at her and if looks could kill; Rachel would be dead ten times over. Still, the tiny brunette just managed to stand strong against such terror. Ironically enough, her increase exposure to Santana was to thank for that. "At any rate, I'm aware of how terrifying it must be for you to carry out what I'm asking, especially now after everything you've been through over the past couple months, but I suppose I'm hoping that you'll take the risk anyway."

Quinn was staring just over Rachel's shoulder at the door with that same desperately lost look as before and the tiny Diva bit her lip uncertainly because she had no idea what it meant. And then the blonde was looking right at her, Rachel opened her mouth to say something to alleviate her nerves but Quinn beat her to it.

Her eyes softened to a dull green—never had the singer seen those eyes without such a prominent tint of brown—and, "I want to try being your friend, Rachel."

All the tiny brunette could do was nod because this was almost too good to be true and had undoubtedly caught the intensely verbose brunette off guard. Rachel was beginning to wonder what was wrong with her because everything about this aloof baffling unnerving girl in front of her was happening within a reactionary bases.

Admittedly, Rachel didn't have too much experience with situations such as this but it had never been like this with Finn. The moment she heard him sing, the decision was just made that nothing was going to stop her from having him and every subsequent thing he did after that wasn't very surprising, it still hurt when it had happened though.

With Quinn, all her decisions were just delaying the inevitable confrontation because deep down Rachel feared the conclusion wouldn't be what she wanted it to be. Quinn might have some type of feelings for her—her messages spoke for themselves—but the fact the blonde choose to communicate with her anonymously through _MySpace_ was extremely telling.

Quinn didn't want Rachel to know it was her—she might never be ready for Rachel to know at all—and the part of the tiny Diva that selfishly wanted was having a hard time accepting that they might only ever be friends, if anything at all. Still, Rachel tried her very best to ignore that desperate churning of her stomach. She was going to try for as long as she possibly could.

"That's wonderful, Quinn," Rachel said brightly before her excitement trailed off into a small genuine smile. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

The blonde just nodded, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth and Rachel watched her eyes shift to a lighter brown just as her cell phone rang. Sighing, the Diva looked away and pulled the tiny device from the pocket of Brittany's gifted hoodie. Rachel almost cringed when she saw the face glaring angrily back at her. The brunette reluctantly slid her thumb across the screen and brought her phone to her ear. The volatile voice never even gave her a chance for a greeting.

"Santittany gots to get their Breadstix' on, so be outside in ten or I leave without your midget ass. B only told me I had to go by your house, not hang around for you to hi-ho your way into my car."

And then the line was dead. Of course Santana wouldn't give her a chance to object either, since Rachel had no desire to go to Breadstix for never ending breadsticks she couldn't eat when the alternative was staying with Quinn.

The brunette glanced up at said girl and the blonde was looking at her phone as well with a stormy annoyed look plastered on her face. It was obvious Santana had invited—railroaded—Quinn into coming as well because the Latina was the only one that could ever put that look on anybody's face. It wasn't surprising that Santana felt the need to call Rachel to insult her and only text Quinn either. The tiny Diva had come to expect as much by now.

"Did Santana tell you of her plans to dine at Breakstix as well?" Rachel murmured her lips quirking down just thinking about it.

Quinn sighed before slipping her phone back into her jacket—that admittedly Rachel would've offered to hang up if she hadn't been so disoriented by her dream then nervous—and nodding slowly.

"Yeah and there is no use arguing with her, actually I'd advise against it." The blonde tilted her head to the side, almost contemplatively before sighing again. "She really loves breadsticks."

Rachel giggled and Quinn smiled back, albeit diminutively. Maybe going to Breadstix with Santana won't be so bad after all.

* * *

When Santana walked into Breadstix, two things happened. The waiter serving a nice elderly couple their linguine and complimentary breadsticks flailed wildly in an awkward attempt to jump for cover in a nearby empty booth and the hostess waiting to seat them turned ghostly pale and looked ready to cry. Rachel wasn't surprised when the Latina seemed to revel in their terror, smirking and preening as she swaggered in with Brittany's pinkie curled around her own.

Santana looked at the young blonde teetering nervously behind the small hostess podium and the cheerleader's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We'll seat ourselves and you best be getting me some breadsticks before I sit down."

The girl was off and running in seconds—much to a still smirking Santana's delight—and sure enough baskets of breadsticks were covering the table minutes after they sat down. Rachel watched as Santana mowed her way through breadstick after breadstick, seemingly having a bottomless pit to store such needless carbs in. The tiny brunette suspected that she'd be spending all of tomorrow with Brittany—not just their couple hour _Discovery Channel_ standing engagement—while Santana ran off her day after breadstick remorse.

Brittany sighed. "Sometimes San likes breadsticks more than sex."

Rachel bit her lip to stifle laughter at the distraught look on her friend's face while Quinn rolled her eyes beside her.

Santana responded by leaning over to kiss Brittany's cheek while reaching to claim the basket of untouched breadsticks in front of Rachel. "Never sex with you, babe."

And then she was back to eating.

The tiny brunette watched Brittany for a moment longer before glancing down at the colourful paper placemat filled with games for kids. The reserved sign Santana threw to the floor when claiming the table suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Do you want to play a game, Brittany?" asked Rachel, when Brittany's frown didn't go away.

The blonde's eyes lit up and she eagerly nodded. Rachel passed her a crayon from the cup near the saltshaker—Santana glared when the back of her hand happened to brush against the Latina's breadstick basket by mistake—and then she turned to hand the red crayon to Quinn, not being able to stop the slight shiver when their fingers touched.

Brittany clapped and started to draw out her chosen game on her placemat. " _Hangman_! I'm going to go first."

Rachel tore her eyes away from Quinn's and smiled encouragingly at Brittany while she felt Quinn shift beside her in the booth.

"Sure, Brittany." Rachel was momentarily distracted by Santana snapping at the staff for service but knew better than to say anything about it if she wanted to avoid a verbal bashing, which the Diva most certainly did. Rachel quickly turned back to Brittany. "I think that is an excellent idea."

The blonde cheerleader had just finished up drawing out the blanks for her chosen word. Five letters and to make it even easier 'my favourite animals' was scrawled across the top of the page as the category.

"Um…N," Quinn said with a contemplative tilt of her head and Rachel glanced quickly over at her while the pregnant girl watched Brittany gleefully give the noose a head to hang.

Then all eyes were on Rachel for her turn—except Santana, who was too busy staring lustfully at a breadstick in her hand—until the waiter that hid from Santana before reluctantly appeared beside their table.

He eyed the brunette Cheerio wearily before putting on his best attempt at a smile. "Hello Ladies, welcome to Breadstix. I'm John and l'll be your waiter this—"

"No need for that, Johnny," Santana interrupted before stacking the last of the four baskets in the middle of the table, minus the one in front of Quinn that the Latina had actually kindly left alone. "Keep the breadsticks a coming and we'll take spaghetti."

She gestured between her and Brittany to which the blonde Cheerio just smiled.

"And to drink?" he hazarded with a nervous fumble of his note pad.

Rachel honestly felt sorry for him and was about to say something when Brittany put her hand on Santana's arm, which unsurprisingly washed the bitchy ire away from the Latina instantly. Brittany then answered for them, "Pepsi."

Johnny turned to Rachel and Quinn next. The brunette let Quinn order first—water and a bacon cheeseburger seemed disproportionate somehow—and then she ordered the only vegan thing on the menu.

"House salad with the dressing on the side."

Santana scrunched up her face but didn't comment when Brittany's nails dug into her wrist and the blonde cheerio looked at Rachel with a sad smile. "Don't worry, Rach. I told San that next time we're going somewhere that has more vegetables for you to eat. We would've went this time but San let me be Professor McGonagall instead of Harry—"

"Is there an R in your word?" Rachel blurted out in order to save herself from several horrific hours of mental anguish.

The blonde instantly brightened. "Nope!"

Rachel sighed in relief. Santana was rolling her eyes and the lack of glare made it easier for the brunette to pretend it was a silent message of gratitude. Rachel quickly looked away before that changed but Quinn drawing tiny stars in the corner of her placemat was more interesting anyway. The hopelessly hopeful part of Rachel skipped a beat because stars were kind of her thing. And Quinn smiling softly at the red stars decorating the paper was enough to send that part of her into sporadic convulsions until Brittany interrupted.

"Your turn, Quinn!" the girl said excitedly and Quinn looked up, abandoning all work on her starry masterpiece when she put her crayon down in front of her.

"Q?"

Santana snorted. "Narcissistic much? You're really bad at this game, Juno."

Rachel glared—which was unquestionably the reaction the Latina was going for judging by the arrogant smirk sent her way—and Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, S," Quinn scoffed before intentionally grabbing a breadstick from the basket in front of her and taking a bite.

The Latina just narrowed her eyes dangerously and was about to comment with something scathing when Brittany spoke up instead. "If you eat any more breadsticks, San, you won't be able to watch the whale documentary tomorrow with me and Rachel."

Santana stiffened momentarily and Rachel had been around the girl enough to realize that this was all a ploy to miss the documentary tomorrow without getting in trouble. Quinn shaking in silent laughter made it obvious the blonde had figured it out as well.

* * *

Rachel and Brittany were upside down on the living room couch, feet in the air and eyes glued to the television screen when Hiram Berry came home fresh from a snack run at the behest of his daughter.

"Rach, honey, I got the…" the man had just taken in the scene before him, his eyes resting briefly on the very familiar movie that hadn't been on when he'd left. "I didn't know we owned _Free Willy_."

Rachel raised her head off the seat cushion of the couch until she spotted him, omitting the last few minutes of the movie in order to answer. "Oh this isn't from our collection. Santana bought it for Brittany to apologize for not being able to attend. All three installments actually, as the fourth was a direct-to-video creation that had no barring on the original story whatsoever."

Hiram just nodded and that seemed to satisfy his daughter because she was focused back in on the movie seconds later. Shaking his head, he just placed the bag of snacks on the couch between them with a small smile.

It was Brittany that looked up at him first this time. "Thanks, Mr. B."

"This was much appreciated, Father," Rachel said right after.

And then their attention was back on the two-bit novelty movie as if it were an academy award winner. Hiram walked away utterly and completely mystified.

After the first movie came to a close, Rachel reluctantly moved upright to retrieve disk two. When she had it in the DVD player and turned around, Brittany was sitting cross-legged with a contemplative look on her face.

The tiny brunette sat down beside her, curling her legs up underneath herself when Brittany decided to talk. "Do you think Q would like a juicer for Christmas?"

Rachel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Brittany, I'm not quite sure what use Quinn would get from a juicer but if you believe it is an appropriate gift then I think it's acceptable, as a present is always much more meaningful when bought without outside influences."

"Okay," the blonde murmured and then her face brightened. "We can go to the mall and I can help you buy better clothes and you can help me with gifts because I know you won't distract me by sexing me up in dressing rooms like San does."

The tiny brunette's eyes widened and she opened her mouth a couple times before she managed, "Yes, I'm positive we won't have that problem, Brittany."

Said girl just bounced excitedly and Rachel hoped the mind numbing story of a boy and his whale kept a debauched Santittany out of her head.

She quickly pushed play many more times than necessary.


	20. Chapter 20

Since the very first instance of prejudice Rachel Berry had ever experienced, she knew she needed a plan; to turn her dreams into a goal of some kind that she could strive for that put all the hatred into perspective. Turning those horrible words into fuel for a successful future instead of letting them tear her down.

It started out rather large, in big sparkly gold—slightly bubbled—capital letters.

Broadway.

One word said it all, at least where Rachel was concerned.

Destination pinned to her new 'life plan' corkboard above her desk, a young Rachel set out to sign up for every class citing skills of the arts in the greater Lima area. Rachel Berry was nothing if not a multifaceted burgeoning star. It wasn't until she got older that she realized certain prerequisites were required along the way. That was when her one-worded goal turned into the top of an umbrella tree.

She started to branch out, writing in underlying goals that needed to be met to obtain her coveted Broadway nirvana. Quickly the board started to fill up with instruments to learn, songs to master, chorography to perfect. Glee Club had been hastily scrawled in next to a crossed out Drama Club—thanks to the disaster that was a very Ryerson _Cabaret_ —a gold star marking its completion in the space beside it.

And right above that was Julliard, a school that looked highly on relevant extracurriculars and positive activities. So in freshman year, when she set out to join Glee Club and found it in dire straits—so much so that even her pitch perfect voice couldn't overcome it—she found herself volunteering to help teach a vocal class at the Lima Community Centre.

Every Wednesday Rachel would assist her vocal coach in a crash course for the crooning beginner. Young kids mostly, except the Davis' who were in their seventies with bad hips that tragically destroyed their dreams of the ballroom dancing class next door. Nonetheless, they seemed to amicably trade the Tango for singing along to their favourite duets, just as long as they were together.

She'd just watched said couple leave, Mrs. Davis belting out the chorus to _At Last_ while her husband followed behind with a fond roll of his eyes. Rachel smiled, humming the same tune as she gathered her stuff and quickly locked the door behind her. Bonnie—the esteemed vocal coach of one Rachel Barbra Berry—always left a little early to get to an appointment across town, which left Rachel to wind the class down and return the keys to the security desk.

Rounding the corner—still effortlessly singing along to Mrs. Davis' chosen classic—Rachel walked straight into a familiar hazel gaze, like they knew she was coming around the bend. Quinn was staring at her in front of the list of the centre's classes on the bulletin board in one of her usual pastel baby doll dresses. Rachel could just see the light pink fabric peeking out from where the blonde's jacket didn't quite reach.

The tiny Diva came to a stop in front of Quinn, who still had a dazed—dare she say it—content look on her face. "Hello, Quinn. How wonderful to see you. Are you looking to take a class?"

Rachel's eyes flittered unconsciously to the board—silently asking her question once again—when Quinn blinked, shrugging nonchalantly. "Maybe, I don't know."

"Well what sort of activity were you looking for?" Rachel looked back at Quinn with a small encouraging smile. "As both an instructor and long time indulger of most of these classes, I'd be happy to assist you in choosing the most fitting class for your needs."

The blonde's eyebrow raised and without the angry eyes it was almost charming. "You teach classes here?"

Rachel nodded. "I assist in a few vocal classes offered here at the community centre but Bonnie is most confident that I'll be able to lead the classes myself in the new year, as her client base is growing far too quickly for her to fully fulfill her obligation to her classes here."

Quinn looked shocked, not that Rachel expected any different. "Oh, that's…surprising."

"I assume you find it rather hard to believe that I'm capable of sharing the spotlight long enough to be a teacher of the craft?" Rachel asked, almost conversationally because she knew it would come up. "It's not surprising to me when my continued offers for vocal training are being constantly rebuffed by those in Glee."

She knew she wasn't the easiest person to get along with—that sometimes her attempts to help came off a little more brash than she meant for them too—but in Glee she saw herself as a leader. It was her job to make them better—in between Mr. Schuester's attempts at life lessons—and her experience spoke for itself.

Everybody in the room was talented but none of them had put the amount of work she did in achieving vocal perfection. For Rachel—growing up immersed in the arts—her talent was putting her best foot forward and if she had the skill to back up her claims, Rachel just always assumed people would listen. But, that obviously wasn't the case. In Glee, her talent was just an extraneous digression until they needed her to sing. She accepted as much to be true when she returned to Glee on Brittany's behest.

Still, it hurt a little bit that even Quinn didn't believe she was capable of being more than the selfish Diva everybody thought she was. Especially after all the times she'd went out of her way to help the blonde over the past couple months.

Quinn was quickly shaking her head. "No, Berry that wasn't what I meant, at least not anymore, now that we're sort of friends. I was surprised that you had the time to do it after all the other extracurricular stuff you talk about doing all the time."

"Oh," exclaimed Rachel through a diminutive frown. "I apologize for my assumption. I suppose I'm not quite sure what to expect from the recent change in our relationship and was guilty of falling back on what I know."

Quinn shrugged. "It's fine. I'm not sure what to expect either."

Rachel smiled brightly and Quinn had just allowed herself to give a much smaller smile in return when the tiny brunette's phone started beeping. Rachel looked apologetic before slipping it from the front pocket of her purse, glancing down at the bedazzled device.

Rachel quickly fiddled with it until her phone went silent and then gazed up at Quinn. "I previously set an alarm as a reminder of my mall excursion with Brittany this afternoon."

Quinn frowned. "Why are you going to the mall with Brittany?"

"She is assisting me on purchasing the perfect dress for the taking of the annual Berry holiday card," Rachel explained before carefully putting her phone back in its designated pocket, "and I'm also in need of a pad lock."

"Pad lock?"

The brunette nodded. "My clothes have been going missing as of late, coinciding with Santana's visits to my home coincidently. Confronting her proved to be futile and she managed to evade being caught by all of my hidden cameras, so I decided my next course of action is to bar the candy store from the baby so to speak."

Quinn seemed perturbed by her explanation and after thinking about it Rachel could admit her metaphor was a rather disturbing way to describe Santana Lopez. Though Santana did rather enjoy candy, sugar in general really.

"She can get through that," Quinn said suddenly and when Rachel looked at her confused, the blonde quickly elaborated. "Her mentor from Lima's 'Scared Straight' program taught her how to pick locks in the mess hall apparently."

Brown eyes widened. "That's horrendous!"

Quinn shrugged. "That's Lima, Berry."

"Yes, it is most unfortunate that utter failure is just an expectation in this town," Rachel sighed before looking up with a small smile. "Besides the Cheerios, of course. You're a force to be reckoned with no matter what the circumstance."

Quinn laughed sardonically, looking down inadvertently at the cause of her ousting from the team. "Well I'm not a Cheerio anymore, in case you haven't noticed."

Reached out, Rachel grasped Quinn's wrist, squeezing lightly—until hazel eyes locked with her own—before letting go. "You will be, Quinn. In case you haven't noticed, Coach Sylvester's only concern is winning and you Quinn Fabray are a better cheerleader than all of them."

The blonde looked away again and Rachel's heart beat madly at the sight of Quinn's cheeks tingeing pink.

"Yeah, well, we'll see," the blonde mumbled and then her head quickly snapped up, face blank. "Isn't Brittany waiting for you?"

Rachel's eyes widened. "I must leave immediately. I fear she might've already purchased the juicer."

Bewildered, Quinn watched the frantic brunette skitter to the security desk, handing something over from her jacket pocket.

"Berry, why would Brittany need a juicer?"

Rachel turned back, stopping dead in her tracks at the realization that she basically outed Brittany's pending gift idea for Quinn. She laughed loudly. "Juicer? Who would need such a thing? I meant…jammer? Yes jammer, an instrument that assists an individual in the process of making jam."

"Okay…" Quinn's eyes narrowed, "I didn't know Brittany liked jam so much."

The tiny Diva looked around nervously before settling for a shrug. "Yes, well, why don't you come and inquire about her previously unfounded fondness for jam for yourself? Unless you have plans to—"

"No!" Quinn interrupted hastily, immediately seeming to realize how desperate she sounded. "I mean, sure that sounds fine."

Rachel's subsequent bright smile could have rivaled the sun. "Excellent. Shall we leave?"

Quinn just nodded. Maybe she could ask Rachel about Lamaze classes later.

* * *

"Rach, the last dress looked like Lord Tubbington's scratch post after watching _The Aristocats_." Brittany paused for a moment to toss said dress in the ugly pile. "This one will have more pieces."

Rachel huffed from inside the dressing room. "Brittany what does that have—"

"Duchess gets him hot," the blonde deadpanned before holding out another dress and quickly tossing it again, this one landing on top of Quinn's head as she came back from the washroom.

"Any luck?" the pregnant girl asked, pealing the lavender fabric from covering her eyes.

Brittany whipped her head towards Quinn, smiling excitedly. "Q, you're back. I found the perfect dress for you."

"B, I don't think I can—"

"San said to buy you some clothes because," Brittany cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes in an awfully good impression of Santana, "you're looking like Orphan Annie after a chemical peel and swallowing a T-Rex."

And somehow she still managed to say it with a smile of complete innocence on her face. Quinn opened her mouth to comment—more than likely to give in—when Rachel stepped out wearing her new dress. Encased in red silk that hugged her chest and hung in waves from her waist, Rachel fiddled with the thin shoulder straps as she nervously looked to both of them for an opinion.

"Do you like it?" the tiny brunette asked softly and Brittany literally lit up like a Christmas tree, nodding eagerly.

"You look eatable!" exclaimed the blonde and Rachel looked up at her with a small smile, a blush dusting her cheeks.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Brittany." She then hesitantly looked to Quinn, who seemed to be staring at her with faraway eyes. "What do you think, Quinn?"

The blonde blinked twice and quickly straightened up, almost like she'd landed back from where ever she was. "You look okay, Berry."

"Thank you, Quinn," Rachel whispered, looking down almost bashfully.

Quinn nodded and looked around nervously until Brittany started dragging Rachel back to the change room.

"I'm hungry for lunch," Brittany said simply to both girls' questioning gazes.

The tiny brunette quickly changed her clothes, coming out with her new dress in hand. After paying, they made their way towards the food court, Brittany's eyes immediately zeroing in on bright golden arches until they eventually settled on a salad bar on the other side of the food court. Sue Sylvester had obviously implemented another diet and Rachel vowed to keep an eye on her friend, so she could thwart the hallucinations at least.

Quinn was already migrating towards the smell of grease and sizzling animal flesh. It seemed grilled cheese wasn't the only thing Baby Fabray liked to eat.

Rachel shook her head, almost fondly. "Brittany and I are going to purchase—"

"Fine, Berry." Quinn waved her hand, already focused on seeking out her desired fast food combo. "I'll find you."

Sighing, Rachel turned to Brittany, who took her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction Quinn had gone. The blonde smiled excitedly when the salad bar came into view and Rachel decided that her friend must really be hungry. She had gone on a 'date' with Santana last night—to make up for the time Santana was forced to spend with her family today—and Rachel shuddered at all the possibilities of where Brittany got her appetite.

"I don't think a juicer would be a good present for, Q," Brittany explained and Rachel inaudibly sighed in relief, as they came to a stop at the end of the line for the salad bar.

"Oh, what made you change your mind?"

Brittany looked contemplative before she seemed to decide on something and nodded to seal the decision's fate. "Q's really sad and she needs to be happy, so I'm going to get her something that always makes me happy no matter what."

The bright smile almost convinced Rachel that asking would not explicitly confuse her or scar her for life. With Brittany it was always one of the two but unfortunately Rachel's curious nature coupled with Brittany's propensity for over sharing was a recipe for disaster that neither of them could overcome.

"That sounds wonderful. May I ask what you plan on buying her?"

Brittany nodded.

"An orgasm," the blonde said cheerily and Rachel choked on what seemed like air while Brittany kept going. "Since you're not girlfriends yet, San has this awesome vibrator that she uses on me when she's Obiwan and she wants to punish me with her light—"

"Salad!" Rachel blurted out, so loud she was sure people were now eyeing her warily. A quick glance around confirmed her suspicions when people would either stare blatantly or nervously look away. "Famished for salad."

Brittany smiled and quickly turned to give their order, much to the tiny brunette's relief. It was then that she heard her name being called. Her heart beat a little faster thinking about Quinn but when a giant blocked her search for hazel eyes, Rachel's hopes were dashed.

"Hello, Finn," she said, slowly moving to meet his eyes. "How are your holidays progressing thus far?"

He gave her his patented carefree smile and Rachel sighed, wondering why he just couldn't make her heart beat madly again. Salad toppings were unfortunately distracting Brittany and Finn brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck nervously.

"Uh, it's been good. Catching up on sleep, you know?" Rachel nodded along and he just continued to get more anxious. "Do you think maybe we could talk for a sec? Just…alone."

He glanced over at Brittany and then back at Rachel to silently communicate what he wanted to do. The last time she'd gone off with him for a private chat, it hadn't turned out well. She'd told him that she was interested in someone else and Rachel kind of felt obligated to comply—at least one more time even if she didn't want to—just because of that.

"Finn, how weird to run into you here. Shopping alone, are we?"

Rachel whirled around and Quinn was standing behind her looking rather annoyed with Finn Hudson. It surprised the Diva, since so far Quinn's dealings with Finn had been full of shy remorseful looks. But, narrowed eyes tracked Finn's every move as he subtly shifted a little closer to Rachel, hoping to gain her attention back. Unfortunately for him, Quinn moved closer as well and easily won Rachel's interest with almost no effort at all.

The boy sighed. "No, I…Rachel's dad told me she'd be here and I wanted to talk to her so—"

"So you followed her here?" Quinn asked sardonically with a roll of her eyes. "Couldn't you have called instead?"

Finn threw her hands up in the air, getting angrier with the girl that he'd never ever forgive. "I tried but she wasn't home!"

Rachel quickly reached out to grasp Quinn's wrist and the blonde's eyes snapped to hers instantly. "It's okay, Quinn. My discussion with Finn will only take a moment. I'm sure Brittany can take care of my salad."

Said girl spun around at the sound of her name, just now clueing into Finn's presence. Her happy face folded in on itself immediately and she stoically nodded. "Okay."

Rachel then followed Finn as he led her towards a quiet corner in front of the gumball machines, unhygienically placed a little ways away from the washrooms. She waited patiently for the conversation to begin but Finn just teetered uncertainly beside her.

Finally, her patience just ran out. "While I appreciate the gesture Finn, I'd really rather get this over with and return to my lunch. I'm not entirely—"

"I'm sorry," he exclaimed suddenly, staring sheepishly at his feet. "I know I shouldn't have come but…" Finn was looking at her now and her stomach churned with how sad he looked. "I just…I really want to be your friend again, Rach."

Rachel swallowed. "Finn—"

"I know we have to talk about stuff because you're always saying that's good and stuff, and so maybe you can come over to my house tomorrow? Just for a little bit and I won't try to get you to date me or anything cause I know you…you like somebody else. I promise, okay?"

Immediately, Rachel knew this was a bad idea, yet she found herself ignoring the most sensible option in her head and leading with her heart. Finn was the first person to take a chance on her—and maybe she'd given him more than one chance already—but she really missed her friend.

"Okay, Finn. I'll contact you tomorrow."

"Really?" Rachel just nodded and Finn's whole face lit up. "Thanks, Rach." They stood awkwardly for a couple more seconds before he started gesturing behind himself awkwardly. "I'm going to go…"

"Bye, Finn," she sighed and quickly followed after him looking for the two blonde's she'd left.

Thankfully, Brittany was obnoxiously waving her hand in the air and Rachel smiled fondly at the gesture, quickly making her way over. Quinn seemed to be glaring at some unknown subject in the mall, completely in her own little world again and Brittany bounced up upon her arrival.

Rachel wasn't sure what had her friend so enthused until she said, "We're going bowling!"

* * *

One thing Rachel was learning about Santana was that when she was away from Brittany for more than twelve hours, she overcompensated with gifts, dates and lots of affection. The _Free Willy_ Trilogy definitely didn't buy itself, cookies had been lost to the ravenous hunger of their renewed intimacy—after Santana stopped being obtuse of course—and under no circumstances would Rachel have pitched the idea of setting foot in any bowling alley ever again. Once was definitely enough for her.

Yet there she was—eyes blinded by the strobe lights, disco ball and Santittany foreplay in rhythm with a lengthy playlist of classic rock—at Rock n' Bowl. At least Quinn seemed to be enjoying herself, or at least the pizza that she'd ordered when they arrived.

And Santana's hand just disappeared…eww.

"Arcade," Rachel squeaked and Quinn looked up at her with inquisitive eyes. "I've decided to frequent the arcade."

Brittany gave her a distracted thumbs up—by distracted Rachel meant the thumb on the hand that was grabbing Santana inappropriately from behind—and the tiny brunette quickly scurried away.

Reaching her safe haven, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Realistically, she knew Santana and Brittany would move their show to the car—since the playlists were twenty minutes long with a ten minute break in between when the lights came back on—but honestly sitting there with Quinn had been extremely awkward. After Finn had taken her bowling and had implied he'd broke up with Quinn, Rachel honestly was having problems facing the blonde.

"You a _Pac-Man_ fan, Berry?"

Rachel whirled around, hazel eyes instantly boring into her own. She then realized she'd come to a stop in front of the game while lost in her thoughts.

The tiny brunette shrugged. "Not really. I've only found the opportunity to play such a game a few times previously."

Rachel decided not to mention that Puck had taken her to the arcade in the next town over because it had better nachos during their week-mance. After her reaction to Finn, Rachel just wanted to be hopeful and assume that maybe it was jealousy at work, that maybe Quinn was acknowledging those feelings—at least to herself—finally.

The blonde walked towards the machine and slipped a quarter into the slot, the game instantly came to life with a catchy little theme song that Rachel could appreciate above all the others sounding off in the room. Quinn's face instantly pinched in concentration and she started moving the tiny joystick back and forth.

"My family went to the county fair every year when I was younger. My sister and I used to play the _Pac-Man_ game they had there…" Quinn trailed off and Rachel watched her, enthralled by the focus hazel eyes were giving the game. "I let her win all the time because it meant so much to her to be the best at everything for my father. Then she left and it was my turn but I didn't have anybody letting me win."

Rachel moved closer so her side was leaning against the brightly painted _Pac-Man_ on the side of the game. "She sounds important to you, Quinn."

The game celebrated another level and they both watched the little yellow blob zoom around the screen with only the monophonic tunes of the arcade to fill the silence. Finally the sound of failure beeped out and Quinn looked up at her with a small frown on her face.

"I lost," she said simply and Rachel bit her lip to stop the laugh at the petulant look Quinn is giving her. "Want to try?"

Rachel glanced at the game and then back at Quinn. "As I previously expressed, Quinn, I'd rather not do the very few things I'm not favourable at. Bowling and arcade games are most definitely on that list."

Quinn smirked, nodding along with the assessment. "That does make sense. My score is pretty high."

Looking to the screen—and the zeros on the end of Quinn's score flashing over top of the game over—Rachel bit her lip contemplatively. "Well what if I do beat your score? After all, I'm sure it can't be too hard."

Immediately, Quinn straightened up at the challenge—like a mini-Sue Sylvester her pride was now undoubtedly on the line even in a battle over the most frivolous of things—eyes narrowing in on the preconceived threat: Rachel.

"You can't beat me, Berry so there is no sense—"

"But if I do?" interrupted Rachel, much to Quinn's annoyance.

The blonde rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with an irritated look on her face. "I suppose that if you were to beat my score, which you won't, you'd already have something in mind."

"True…" she trailed off and walked slowly toward the machine. "I can't remember…these buttons are not vital to game play, are they?"

Quinn smirked in victory but as the minutes wore on her preemptive celebration quickly turned into a frown when Rachel intentionally let the joystick go the moment she beat the blonde's score, turning to Quinn with a bright smile on her face.

"You hustled me!"

Rachel shrugged. "Brittany taught me."


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

**Twenty-One**

Her thumb grazed over the many tiny bejeweled rhinestones protecting her phone from harm. Swirling invisible patterns—letters mostly—first her name and then would-be gold stars until another's name appeared surrounded by a—totally smitten—rainbow of hearts.

Rachel was in her car again, loitering outside of another house. A block or so away from Noah's actually, deep in the heart of Lima Heights. Finn was waiting for her inside the modest beige panelled bungalow, ready to talk about…well he alluded to friendship but Rachel still wasn't totally convinced of such motives, not when experience said otherwise.

At any rate, he was still waiting for her and she was out front, frozen by the decision of whether or not to contact Quinn. Though bowling had gone moderately well—and technically her achieving a higher score did afford her with a perfect way to reach out—the task was still extremely daunting. Their friendship was still entirely new and for Rachel—who had forged ahead leading with her whole heart—rejection was a very real crippling possibility in her mind.

The fluttering of the curtains in the front window caught Rachel's attention. Finn had undoubtedly seen her—since he mentioned his mother had a previous engagement this morning—and Rachel shook her head at her bout of nerves. It seemed Quinn Fabray would forever be the answer to her confidence going dark.

Rachel quickly typed out a text, sending it just as she stepped out of her car. Message sent, car alarm armed—in Lima Heights one could never be too careful—the tiny brunette padded up the gravel driveway to the Hudson front porch. Finn whipped opened the door before she even raised her hand to knock.

The boy stood in the doorway wearing his usual preppy-backwoods ensemble, big goofy grin lighting up his whole face. He really looked every bit of the gorgeous leading man she'd thought he'd be until Quinn got in the way. If Rachel were being totally honest, she wanted them both. Selfishly, she just didn't want to choose.

Rachel smiled up at him, matching his enthusiasm tenfold. "Good morning, Finn. I appreciate you rising early to abide to my schedule."

"Sure thing, Rach," exclaimed Finn, moving away from the door to let her enter. "It's easier than looking all over the mall for you again."

"Yes, that would be quite the feat. You could possibly call my cell phone next time." Said device had been previously tucked back under the strap of her bra on her way to Finn's front door. Her skirt-ladened wardrobe required her to get a little crafty once in a while. "You do still have my number in your possession, don't you?"

Finn looked confused for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck in thought before he nodded. "Yeah, I should've thought of that but once your dad said you were at the mall, I sort of had like a one track mind, you know?"

"Of course. That is completely understandable, Finn," Rachel agreed with a slight tilt of her head. "In fact, I've come to expect such logic from you since we first embarked on our friendship."

The tiny brunette sat daintily on the edge of the sofa while Finn took the other cushion closest to his father's chair. Carole had explained the significance of the old recliner the last time Rachel had been in the Hudson's home to convince her co-captain to show for Sectionals. It really meant a lot to him.

Suddenly, Finn sprung to his feet again. "My mom told me to get you food or water or something. I should've remembered, sorry."

Rachel smiled at his hangdog expression because it seemed like he was really trying to make an effort. And though she'd made it entirely clear that the way to her heart was through bountiful attention, the tiny Diva very much doubted that Finn knew that.

"It's more than alright, Finn," explained Rachel, shifting slightly to smooth out her skirt across her thighs. "I'm not in need of anything right now, anyway, but thanks for asking."

His face lit up again at her words—as he fell back onto the sofa—and Rachel found herself smiling back. It was nice to be like this with him again, friendly.

"Okay, but tell me if you want something 'cause I'll totally get it for you." He gestured over his head to the kitchen and Rachel slowly nodded. A beat of silence and then surprisingly Finn started talking again. "I really thought a lot about what you said about you and me. I was mad at first but then I realized that you were right. I think that if we're meant to be together then it will happen just like you said."

Rachel didn't remember saying something quite like that but she supposed she agreed anyway. If they were meant to be together—which if her feelings for Quinn were anything to go by, probably not—they'd end up that way without trying way too hard. It seemed Finn had taken what she'd said—forcing a relationship to work isn't where either of them should be—and actually made improvements to it. Rachel suspected she had Mrs. Hudson to thank for his sudden turnaround.

Finn was a good guy at heart, maybe a little tactless and somewhat selfish but then Rachel was too. She supposed the only difference was that between the two of them, she was the one to admit those things about herself. Finn always needed some help, so Rachel leaned in prepared to do just that.

"I wholeheartedly agree, which is why I want to make sure you're entering into this with only friendship in mind, Finn." He looked nervous again—carelessly running a hand through his hair down toward the back of his neck—and Rachel continued on, despite already knowing the answer. "This won't work if you're pining with less than friendly intentions and while I don't want to loose your friendship, I can't in good conscience come in to this allowing you to do so."

His hand dropped to his lap and Finn looked deep in thought, which ironically produced a blank face stare that didn't seem pensive at all. It was rather cute actually and one of the things she loved about him. Rachel was just about to prod him for an answer when she felt her phone vibrate against her chest.

Pulling it out discreetly—though Finn was too lost to notice she'd just slipped her hand inside her shirt anyway—Rachel spotted Quinn's name, text attached. Her heart beat wildly at the realization that Quinn had agreed to her terms if she was afforded a rematch. Rachel quickly typed out an affirmative reply—honestly the blonde could've asked for almost anything at this point and Rachel would've given it to her—and then slipped her phone back in its hiding place.

With her attention now back on Finn, he appeared sullen and somewhat sheepish. It seemed that he'd found his answer.

"I want to tell the truth this time so…I do still like you, Rach, like a lot but you like someone else so…" Rachel opened her mouth to comment but he quickly cut her off, "as long as we don't talk about him, we can be friends."

Rachel bit her lip, hesitant on a proper course of action. She did want Finn in her life—as the guy that fixed wheelchairs and complained about his girlfriend until she finally acquiesced to help—but such a situation would no doubt end horribly. Still, it couldn't hurt to try, right?

Brown eyes fell to her lap, as her hands started to re-smooth out her skirt. Refusing him now would ultimately end their friendship anyway and he looked so confident that it would work…

"Okay," Rachel finally whispered before looking up at him, the tone of her voice that much more confident. "I suppose we can give it a shot."

Finn's goofy grin made her feel better, at least for now.

* * *

"Are you positive _Go Fish_ is the game you want to hinge your revenge on?" Rachel asked, looking up at the very determined blonde across from her.

Quinn's eyes narrowed and her mouth settled into a deviously confident—completely unnerving—smirk as she focused on her cards. Clearly, the girl was taking no prisoners this time around.

"Oh I'm positive, Berry," she murmured loftily and Rachel swallowed, glancing down briefly at her own cards as well. "Got any twos?"

The tiny brunette quickly straightened up and shook her head. "No, unfortunately not. Go fish, Quinn."

Said girl growled lowly and picked up another card from the pile between them, frowning when it didn't seem to have a match in her hand. Rachel bit back an amused smile at the petulant blonde, her heart humming at Quinn's adorable—yet fierce—pout.

"Do you have any kings?" Rachel briefly hesitated—anxiously fiddling with her cards—before she added, "I play this all the time with my daddy, you know? Every Christmas Eve prior to the real-time viewing of _The Main Event_ but subsequent the vegan Moo Goo Gai Pan."

Quinn looked up, giving a flippant raise of her eyebrow. "Nope and experience doesn't factor into this game because it is all about luck."

"And let me guess, you're feeling lucky?" Rachel giggled as she reached for a card.

The blonde shrugged nonchalantly but her smirk seemed to soften around the edges. The move distracted poor Rachel enough for her breath to catch, becoming utterly charmed by the sight at once.

"Not lately," Quinn whispered, her empty hand unconsciously migrating to rest on her stomach while Rachel blinked away her inner girly squeals. "Puck does the same thing on Christmas Eve, minus the Streisand worship. I'm sure it will be...something."

Rachel's answering smile lit up the room and Quinn cradled a decorative pillow to her chest from her spot on the couch, the pile of cards on the cushion between them.

"I must say your previously unfounded knowledge of Barbra's role as Hillary Kramer, a successful Perfume magnate and hapless victim of a fraudulent assault in _The Main Event_ is most peculiar, Quinn," the tiny Diva chirped in a fury of arms and excited—scandalized—gasps.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about me, Berry. Any aces?"

With wide eyes—mind still racing with all the possibilities for the subsequent movie night after Quinn's thirst for vengeance was quenched—Rachel absently handed over a card to which the blonde gave an adorable little fist pump after placing her new pair down. Quinn Fabray was a giant dork with a hidden admiration for Barbra Streisand it seemed.

"Be still my beating heart," mumbled Rachel, blinking before she attempted to smile with her eyes, a skill she hadn't yet fully mastered if Finn was still looking under his bed every night.

Rachel's sudden declaration came out unintelligible, just a slur of a few breathy syllables, but the noise was enough to catch Quinn's attention anyway. "Huh? You say something, Berry?"

"Are you holding any jacks?" the brunette exclaimed, looking up at Quinn curiously in hopes that it would pass for her earlier slip of the tongue.

Quinn huffed before reluctantly handing her card over. Rachel enthusiastically placed the pair in front of her. She only had two card left now—a King of Clubs and a three of diamonds—and the draw pile was getting pretty low, since Quinn only had three cards left.

"This isn't over, Berry," Quinn warned, glare firmly in place. "Don't look so smug yet. Got any fives?"

Rachel smiled brightly and shook her head. "Alas, I'm without a match. Go fish!"

Grumbling, the blonde drew a card, eyes narrowing angrily as she glanced down at it. Immediately, Rachel knew it was the match to one of hers. If she picked right, victory would be all hers—since the odds of Quinn getting rid of her three cards before she got rid of one was highly in Rachel's favour—and Quinn seemed to know it too because she was staring her down darkly.

The tiny brunette looked between her two cards before ultimately picking the one that looked the prettiest. "King, do you have a king?"

Quinn threw her cards down with an exaggerated groan and Rachel's eyes lit up, beaming in victory. The Diva clasped her hands against her chest and started bouncing excitedly, much to the blonde's chagrin.

"I don't know how you keep winning!" Quinn cried, hands incredulously waving through the air. "I already have to suffer through 'a previously selected Rachel Berry film formerly screened by using both our interests and defining character traits to match proper plot compatibility,' which is already cruel enough."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I suppose it is possible to play another game, if you so choose, and we can forgo the movie for the time being."

The tiny brunette pushed all the cards together in a pile, moving to shuffle the them without much thought. Quinn watched the action as Rachel manipulated the cards so they made an arch and cascaded into her waiting hands.

The blonde seemed almost mesmerized before she interrupted. "Where did you learn that?"

Rachel stopped shuffling and looked at Quinn with a confused expression, trying to figure out what spurred the blonde's question. "I apologize but I don't seem to understand what—"

"How you were shuffling the cards?" Quinn gestured to the brunette's hands with one of her own. "Where did you learn that?"

Rachel glanced down at the cards and then back up at Quinn, a small wistful smile appearing on her face.

"Cousin Leon believes himself to be an amateur card player. Before he was married and still ever the emblematic college student, he used to stay with us instead of paying the outrageously expensive costs for living in a dorm. And one day, he tasked himself the feat of grooming himself a card shark legacy. Me, evidently."

Quinn gasped teasingly. "But what about Broadway?"

"Yes, well, unfortunately, to his utter dismay, at five years old my hands were too tiny to pick up the skill of shuffling right away." Rachel scoffed at the twitch of Quinn's lips—the intention was crystal clear—because no matter what the blonde said (now that she wasn't calling them manly anymore) her hands had so grown since then. "As you can imagine, I was pretentiously determined to prove him wrong out of pride-induced obligation and once I mastered it I informed him continuing my training would only interfere with my calling of superstardom."

Giggling, Quinn cradled her stomach and gently leaned back into the couch, amused smile on her face. "You were even stubborn at a young age, not that I'm surprised."

"I can teach you, if you want," Rachel said softly, not entirely sure of such an idea, but too eager to refrain from voicing it at all.

Quinn seemed startled by the offer but didn't hesitate to take the other girl up on it. "Sure, Berry. It can't be that hard."

Rachel nodded, splitting the deck in half looking up at Quinn. "The first step is to split the cards in two, the more equal the piles the easier the process is to complete. Then you bend the cards back with your thumb and alternate letting them loose until both piles are layered at the top. Here try."

She pushed the cards back into a neat pile and handed them to the other girl with a small nod of encouragement. Quinn mastered it on the first try and Rachel couldn't help but laugh at the triumphant look adorning the blonde's face.

"See, not hard at all," Quinn exclaimed, revelling in her accomplishment with a self-satisfied smirk.

Rachel couldn't help but find this superior cocky side of Quinn extremely appealing when it didn't come with an insult. The pleasant tingle low in her stomach honestly wasn't helping things, though Rachel relished the feeling anyway, as Quinn handed her back the cards.

"This is the most difficult part to learn." Rachel quickly layered the cards once again and set them up for the big finale. "Once the first step is complete you bend the cards towards you. Your thumbs should be together at the bottom of the arch to catch them as they slide down."

Rachel then proceeded to do as she said and the cards cascaded into place. Quinn watched with a look akin to wonder before she took the deck from Rachel's hand. The first time wasn't necessarily a charm for the blonde this time. Cards flew at her and Rachel had to stifle a laugh at the frown on the other girl's face when one flew up, hitting the tip of Quinn's nose.

"You better not laugh, Berry," she growled and Rachel bit her lip while Quinn huffed in indignation. "If my stupid fingers weren't swollen because of being pregnant, I would've been able to do it. You know maybe we should just do something else."

Quinn eyes looked away and Rachel frowned, quickly shaking her head. "No, I apologize. I shouldn't have laughed and your fingers are lovely, Quinn. Here I'll help you."

The blonde didn't look convinced, still a tad bit reluctant to try again but she moved to gather up all the errant cards with Rachel anyway. Quinn did the first part flawlessly again and Rachel hesitated briefly before putting her hands on top of Quinn's to show her. With Rachel's help, the cards fell onto both their fingers before the brunette quickly pulled away.

"See you did it." Rachel swallowed nervously.

Quinn continued to look at the cards before looking up at Rachel. "Yeah…"

Their eyes locked momentarily before Rachel tore herself away from hazel, looking towards the television. At beat later, when she was gazing back in Quinn's general direction, the tiny Diva stood up.

"I believe we have a movie to watch, as it was part of you fulfilling you obligation to losing our bet. I have previously put it inside the player, so let me procure the required snacks and we can commence with the video when I return."

Quinn didn't say anything, glancing back down at the cards in her hands again, as Rachel fled for the safety of the kitchen.

* * *

Brittany sat happily cradling Lithgow to her chest at the bottom of Rachel's bed, as said girl walked through the door balancing a tray in her hands. Placing it in the middle of the bed, the tiny Diva scooted up against the headboard, quickly grabbing a pillow to cuddle in her lap.

Rachel then gestured toward her tray-ladened offering with an overly dramatic swing of her arm. "I procured some of the hummus and pita chips I had leftover from my last cooking lesson with your mother."

Brittany smiled, biting her lip as she eagerly perused the selection to decide which chip to take. Rachel leaned more heavily into the pillow—bringing her knees up as a make shift bed to rest her head on—while the blonde started to make her way through her favoured snack.

"Where's San?" Brittany mumbled with a mouth full of chips.

Rachel didn't have the heart anymore to lecture her blonde friend on proper manners, since Brittany never listened anyway. The tiny brunette suspected that long time exposure to Santana was the cause of that. Rachel reached for a chip instead.

"She insisted that macerated chickpeas weren't edible for anybody tall enough for the big kid rides and is still scouring the kitchen in search of food."

Brittany nodded, smiling brightly seconds later. "My head doesn't hurt anymore when you talk."

Rachel giggled, not finding it odd at all that she understood perfectly what Brittany was trying to say—even if it came out borderline insulting.

"Mine either!" she exclaimed loudly and readily hit the hand Brittany had held out for a high five at their shared accomplishment.

It was a little thrilling to know that somebody had cared enough to want to understand all she had to say. Brittany had been studying that dictionary—the one Rachel had mistakenly left at her house—religiously during her and Lord Tubbington's newly implemented reading time. Santana had held no punches when informing her by a lengthy foul-mouthed text message after the second time the Latina was 'cockblocked' by Brittany's new study schedule. In return, Rachel too made an effort to pay more attention to Brittany as a whole and not just her words while subsequently pumping Mrs. Pierce for all the information she could. The hard work seemed to be paying dividends for both of them.

Brittany shifted—so she was curled up on her side facing Rachel—and laughed. "I'm more smarter than Finn now!"

Rachel smiled, finding herself instantly caught up in Brittany's whirlwind of enthusiasm. The blonde bounced over to the spot beside her and put her arm around her shoulders in a very familiar side hug. Thankfully, Santana was busy eating her way through the pantry because being shoved and duct taped inside a popcorn box was very much still on the table where Santana was concerned.

"I visited Finn yesterday morning," Rachel found herself mumbling, as if a touch from Brittany was truth serum in her veins.

The blonde nodded knowingly and pulled their bodies closer together until Rachel was tucked underneath her arm.

"He wants to be your friend, right?" Brittany asked, almost absently like she put no thought into it at all.

Rachel looked up, eyes wide because just how did Brittany know? She hadn't told anybody she was going—well, Quinn but this morning Rachel didn't get the impression that it was something the blonde was jumping to talk about—and Rachel certainly hadn't uttered a word of their conversation to anybody else.

"I'm not sure how you'd know such a thing, Brittany." Thinking back, Finn might've told somebody, but she doubted the boy would want to broadcast his failure to escape the friend zone after she was previously tripping over herself for him in the halls. "Did you acquire the information second hand, perhaps?"

Brittany shook her head. "Finn did it with, Q. She didn't want him in grade eight and then they were friends until high school came. Then she liked him and he took her for dinner. San was worried his mammoth hooves would crush all the breadsticks."

Rachel's mouth gaped openly, almost to the point of dislocation until it snapped shut in a grim version of a frown. Suddenly, this morning made so much more sense.

_Rachel blinked sleepily, as the sun bore into her eyes from the wrong side of her room. This heinous—and most confusing—wake up call was very much not appreciated, especially when she had arranged her bedroom to preemptively kibosh such a situation from ever happening. Bleary brown eyes just managed to peak open and then last night came rushing back to her._

_Having made no specific limit to how many movies were included in the night that Pac-Man built, Rachel—selfishly—wanted something she wasn't brave enough to ask for. Quinn sleeping over seemed like the forbidden fruit at the very top of a giant tree and Rachel figured that if it was already late—if Quinn was already tired—her chances of climbing to the top without plummeting to her death were even more likely. Such underhanded tactics could even be construed as necessary, since Quinn seemed much happier away from the Puckerman home more often than not._

_So, halfway through movie number three—in the Pink Panther movie series before its horrific series rejuvenation—Rachel had paused the movie to set up the pull out couch, reasoning it would be more comfortable for the pregnant blonde._

_By movie four, Quinn had agreed to stay._

_After that was very much a blur of exhausted images but all the signs were there to conclude that Rachel had never made it to her room last night. The conspicuous change to the position of the sun, the forgiving bend to the mattress underneath her, waking up snuggled up to a very cuddly Quinn Fabray…a very cuddly Quinn that was running her thumb lightly over the knuckles of Rachel's hand._

_The tiny Diva gasped softly at the gentle caresses, looking up and only seeing the features of an angel, fast asleep. Rachel bit her lip, turning her hand in the blonde's hold until it was palm up against the navy comforter she'd retrieved sometime last night. The touches continued, running across her heart line and swiping gently through her destiny with almost a doting touch._

_With a small sigh, Rachel forced herself away because every second spent revelling in earth-bound heaven; she was risking something Quinn wasn't ready for. The tiny brunette had promised herself that she'd hang on for as long as she possibly could keep her knowledge about Quinn's feelings inside and that included pushing an envelope that wasn't yet opened._

_Running a hand through her hair—wincing when her fingers snagged in a ball sized knot—Rachel took in the eerily blue screen on the television and leaned over to retrieve the remote resting on the arm of the couch to turn it off._

_Her phone then beeped with a text message from Finn. Rachel had just moved to open it when Quinn grumbled beside her, gingerly pushing herself up in a sitting position and looking quite adorable through a maze of blonde locks._

" _Good morning, Quinn," Rachel said cheerily, the blonde gave an unintelligible sound in response._

_It seemed Quinn Fabray was not a morning person, at least not until she fully woke up. Rachel smiled and turned back to her message, scanning the hodgepodge of text speak and comprehensible words for a meaning._

" _Why the heck do you have your ringer so loud, Berry?" Rachel looked up and rolled her eyes at the grumpy frown. "That thing could wake the dead."_

" _So I could hear it while asleep, Quinn," the brunette explained slowly, as the answer seemed exceedingly obvious in the first place. "Anyway, making sense of Finn's attempts at murdering grammar is something best not attempted until after breakfast."_

_Quinn's eyes went dark and her jaw clenched. "Finn?"_

_Rachel felt like smacking herself as a reminder never to tempt fate before the morning news ever again, especially when it involved names that rhyme. Or just Quinn really._

_She quickly rushed to reassure. "We're just friends. I explicitly told him numerous times that I have no future interest in pursuing a romance of any kind."_

_And that didn't seem to help matters. Breakfast was ever the harrowing experience with a hormonal and raging Quinn Fabray angrily stabbing a grapefruit beside her and now Rachel knew why._

Finn's earnest face when he assured her of his honesty flashed through Rachel's mind. Her fist involuntarily clenched but truthfully, she wasn't as angry with him as she was herself. Rachel knew all along exactly what he was doing—that foreboding feeling just never went away—but the tiny brunette had ignored it. Rachel wanted so much to be his friend that she ignored the signs.

She just hated giving up on something, hated giving up things once she had them. Rachel wanted to believe his true intentions were his best ones because deep down she just really wanted that too. For someone—for Glee—to look passed her big star personality making big star mistakes and see her. Yet, clearly treating people how she wished to be treated wasn't the best of advice her fathers' could've given her for surviving high school because now she had no idea what to do, except for maybe screaming Finn's ear off.

The door being kicked open broke Rachel from her thoughts and revealed Santana coupled with a bag of _Oreos_. The Latina rolled her eyes at Rachel's stare and leaped onto the bed beside Brittany.

"Check your _MySpace_ , Jiminy Cricket. Everyone's favourite lesbian statistic left you a message," Santana barked and then proceeded to shove several cookies into her mouth.

Brittany clapped excitedly and her eyes landed on the idle laptop on the other side of the room. "How do you know, San?"

The Latina leaned back so her head was resting against Brittany's calves and shrugged. "I subscribed for up to date pressed lemony laughter."

Rachel rolled her eyes, sliding off her bed and over to read her new message. With a couple clicks she was there and honestly she was more surprised Santana hadn't been lying.

_Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if you knew who I was. I think it would be perfect until I remember I'm still me._

Brown eyes weld up in tears and she bit her lip, desperately clutching the edge of her computer chair. She felt Brittany pull her into an embrace from behind—since Santana would rather chop off a limb than stop for a free hug—and fell back into the blonde's offered support.

"You should write back," Brittany whispered and Rachel quickly shook her head because she'd never get an answer anyway.

Santana took this as the perfect opportunity to cut in. "Q's gone all wilted Gay-Feather. All sad and shit."

"San," Brittany warned and the answering scoff could only mean it was accompanied with a Brittany glare.

"Fine, write the glittery rain cloud back then. Don't matter to me," Santana uttered sarcastically and quickly turned her focus back onto the cookies in her lap.

Rachel sighed. "What would I say?"

Squeezing her tight, both ignoring the irritated growl from behind them, Brittany said, "You're smart so it will just come to you. I know it will."


	22. Chapter 22

Day three of staring at Quinn's not so anonymous message and Rachel was still without an answer. She'd never struggled with communication before. For a girl who was never one to mince words, being without the comfort of artfully woven rhetoric to express herself was unnerving to say the least. But looking at Quinn's message—seeing the gravity of the blonde's pain first hand—Rachel was dumbstruck.

She just didn't understand the deep-seeded self-loathing staring back at her, not when Quinn Fabray was on the other side of the anonymous cheerleader pseudonym. The blonde was beautiful, the prettiest girl Rachel had ever seen and so much more than that—the single rose among many carnations…and one giant lying beanstalk Rachel would rather not associate with again. But when she looked at the screen, Rachel was beginning to realize that Quinn didn't quite look at herself with the same high regard.

Hiding herself away behind layers of bitchy bravado was Quinn's defence from the world but it never crossed Rachel's mind that everything was a façade. That somewhere deep down there was a girl Rachel had never met buried inside Quinn Fabray. The disconnect between the icy but thawing girl that frequently showed up on her doorstep—who also sporadically and so desperately tried (and succeeded) in charming her heart into palpitations over _MySpace—_ was slowly mending in the middle.

And Rachel would do anything to know that girl without the forced ambiguity of a computer screen but something had her thoughts and usual sense wandering off elsewhere when she tried to put it all into words.

She just blanked and Rachel's solution was to bake.

Brownies, cookies, cakes, pies—all vegan of course and all possible candidates for dessert at the Christmas dinner the Berrys gathered for every year in her Aunt Robin's honour—were cooling on the counter. Usually the festivities took place in New York but that wasn't happening this year, thanks to her arguing fathers. Still, even without the backdrop of her favourite city—just the depressing open wide plains of Lima, Ohio—seeing her family all together was something to look forward to.

Rachel had yet to attempt any non-vegan creations, which were always available as life's spice of variety at any Rachel Berry sanctioned event. It was just difficult straying from her usual vegan baking—and being culpable in hurting all those poor baby chickens—because it made taste testing for the perfect recipe impossibly hard.

But there were other things of further importance at this point in time anyway. Daddy had assembled the tree for her last night (beside the mantel displaying the Berry family Menorah) and she was determined to have it decorated by the time her dads planned to stop by the house after work to pick her up for the drive out to meet her auntie at the airport.

The lights would take an hour alone and of course deliberating which star—in her varied collection of decorative stars—would serve as this year's tree topper was a most important decision that would not be taken lightly.

Her aunt enjoyed a gaudy, technicolour explosion for a Christmas tree and Rachel was certainly going to deliver. Those monochromatic decorative show trees were devoid of personality anyway and that wasn't a very Berry Christmas tree at all. Rachel was raised celebrating the customs of both Hanukkah and Christmas and loved both of them equally, yet sometimes just staring at the lights—as they flashed and twinkled, illuminating the dark and projecting a kaleidoscope of colours around the room—filled her with so much joy, pushing all the hurt that came with being Rachel Berry right out.

Suffice to say, it was an important task to get right.

Thankfully, half the battle was already won with a little extra effort before storing away the decorations last year. Rachel had made sure all the light were in an untangled perfect working order and each strand was labeled with their rightful position on the tree. That and a step ladder made putting them up as easy as a few tiny adjustments until they hung just right along the branches.

Garland was next. A special shimmery silver kind that her and her aunt had found last year at the bottom of one of the many bargain bins during the Boxing Day rush. The mundane evergreen type (compete with bright red bows) was already wrapped around the rails and banisters of all the stairs—and tacked to the more prominent edges of the doorways in the Berry home—but the shimmery kind was just flashy enough to make the tree.

Then giant ordainments: homemade crafts, balls, figurines (miniature Barbra had a permanent spot right at the tree top), even small plaques with all the Berry family's names found a spot hanging on one of the many tree branches. It truly was a beaming beckon of holiday cheer—and admittedly a sight for sore eyes—once it was complete.

Rachel smiled while nestling a tiny fair-haired angel among in branches—the last decoration left in the box at her feet. It reminded her of Quinn because nowadays hair colour was enough to turn her thoughts in the blonde's direction and Quinn would always be angelic to her anyway.

Still, as Rachel looked at the angel, she wondered what Christmas would be like for Quinn without her family. Sure Rachel didn't think much of either of Quinn's parents but that didn't mean she should be without them for the holidays. Any family was better than none at all but Rachel doubted it made any bit of difference when both of them knowingly kicked the poor blonde to the streets in a cold night in November. It was a shame that even at Noah's house, she wouldn't at least get to celebrate Christmas with somebody.

Sighing, Rachel stepped back and moved toward the couch to pick the perfect tree-topping star. She decided on a simple light up gold one—one of the first to make it into her holiday star collection—and turned to go put it up when the front door flew open, her daddy's lanky figure quickly rushing in.

"Sweetie, your dad is already impatiently waiting in the car, are you ready to…" Leroy turned the corner into the living room, his eyes widening at the newly decorated tree before he clapped ecstatically. "Marvellous, simply stunning. Your auntie is going to love it… and you even put up the miniature Frosty. We'll just have to do the tinsel when we get back and it will be perfect."

Excitement had always been contagious for the already easily moved Rachel Berry and she was beaming at him, star still in hand, as she turned to gaze at the tree proudly.

"Excellent. Mission undoubtedly accomplished." Looking down at the star, she held it out to her daddy with a smile. "Place the star while I go get my purse, okay Daddy?"

He nodded, accepting the star with careful hands and Rachel latched onto him for a quick hug before bounding up the stairs. Christmas was already bringing her daddy home early, well that and the impending arrival of his little sister.

Rachel could only hope it lasted through the New Year and her inevitable auntie's stage cue home.

* * *

Her new dress felt exquisite against her skin. Its buttery deep red fabric was so soft and tickled at her legs as she twirled in front of the mirror to make sure it looked perfect from every possible angle.

There was a knock at her door and then, "Rachel, honey, are you decent?"

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the voice as her auntie slowly pushed the door open until just her head stuck its way in.

Rachel laughed. "Yes, Auntie, I most definitely am."

The woman stepped in, her deep dark eyes twinkling behind lenses and black frames. Rachel adored the colour of her deep green dress against her dark skin as the fabric glided across the floor with her every step until she took a seat on the bed.

"Sweetie, you look wonderful." Her aunt's eyes swept across Rachel's dress and up to the matching red headband holding back the hair from her face. "Your daddy did tell me you bought a new dress."

Rachel shyly toyed with the fabric of the skirt and smiled. "Brittany assisted in the purchase last week."

"Ah, will I ever meet the girl while I'm here?" Her aunt's head tilted slightly in contemplation, her unruly curls flowing into her eyes until she swept them away. "She sounds like quite the character and a fine young woman for standing up to those bullies in that glee club."

Rachel nodded because she was sure Brittany would be visiting a lot over the break, since they had many more Christmas themed movie nights planned for the upcoming weeks.

"I believe such a thing is certainly possible." Rachel was nodding and started moving around her room in search of the perfect pair of flats. "She's busy for the next couple days with her...Santana but I'm sure we can arrange something before you leave."

Her auntie laughed and Rachel had just drifted into her closet when she said, "Yes, Santana too. I must meet them both. You know how I enjoy the baby gays the most. Your dad was so precious when your daddy brought him home…"

Rachel giggled, ironically emerging from her closet with a perfect shoe in each hand. "I've heard the story many times before, Auntie and while Santana might be new to the scene, now that she's finally stopped being an obtuse closet case, she's extremely… feral, shall we say."

The woman slapped her thighs and stood up. "Well, I still look forward to meeting her anyway. We're leaving in fifteen minutes so be ready, sweetie."

Rachel nodded just as her phone blared to life on her desk. Her Aunt Robin smiled and the door clicked shut by the time Rachel grabbed her phone.

Brittany.

Smiling she hurried to answer. "Hello Brittany. How are you fairing so far today?"

There was a pause and then, "I'm fairing awesome because Sanny promised to take me to see the ducks and then we're having a picnic and then we're going to have sex in a tree or her car. Lord Tubbington really wants it to be a maple tree though 'cause he wants me to get the syrup for his breakfast tomorrow."

"That certainly sounds… adventurous." Rachel's brain then decided to map out the dynamics of how one would have sexual intercourse in a tree and Santana was losing too many clothes in the scenario for her taste. Shaking her head, she uttered, "Is there something specific I can do for you?"

She imagined Brittany was nodding because of the sudden rustling over the phone. "Oh yes, I'm inviting you to San's Xmas party but she said you can only come if you let her dress you first. But I told her that doesn't matter because she already stole all your bad clothes and me and you are getting ready together so San can't argue when I help you."

Rachel bit her lip, trying to quell both her nerves and an enormous burst of excitement. She'd never been invited to Santana's annual Christmas party before. Usually Rachel just heard about it afterward when school started back up after the holidays and while she never wished to actually attend—because Santana usually seemed entertained by the thought of physically harming her—being included for once had her bubbling with warmth, especially now that she had a reason to go.

"I'd love to attend. Thank you, Brittany," she finally said, her tone a little louder than usual to quell the thrill of the moment.

"Yay! It's going to be great and we can go and buy presents for San before too because she'll be too busy with setting up the party to know we're going to get her gifts."

"That sounds reasonable," Rachel agreed with a slight nod. "I also have a few gifts I still need to purchase as well."

There was then a loud bang and Rachel's brow furrowed when she heard Brittany's muffled voice until she came back on the line. "Sorry, Rach, I have to go. Lord Tubbington wants to use the phone to call his pen pal in Taiwan. We can talk later, okay?"

"Sure, Brittany." Rachel shivered at the thought of that obese cat being anywhere near her again. Waking up with it glaring at her from the foot of Brittany's guest bed was enough of an encounter for Rachel to last her a life time. "Have fun on your date with Santana."

"Okay!" Brittany exclaimed and promptly hung up seconds later.

Rachel shook her head and slid her phone inside the front pocket of the purse on her desk. Picking the bag up, she skipped toward the door with a beaming smile plastered all over her face.

* * *

Quinn appeared at her doorstep, side braid and patented pastel baby doll dress in tow. The smell of an assortment of (non-vegan) baked goods waffled from the kitchen and Rachel lead the blonde toward her make shift bakery with an excited flick of her wrist.

Her fathers were at work, her aunt was sleeping and thankfully Santana and Brittany were on a date. Watching Santana gorge on sugar—again—was not on her list of possible happenings for her holiday—again—if she could help it. With all her would-be taste testers otherwise engaged, the only other option was to cash in on her _Go Fish_ win for Quinn Fabray.

Her (newly revised) solution was to bake…for Quinn.

As a full-fledged multi-tasking genius, Rachel was used to carrying out multifaceted plans. Solving many problems at once was more convenient for the burgeoning star on the go and Rachel was (at least) hoping that actions spoke louder than her unprecedented depletion of words.

They reached the kitchen just as the oven timer went off. Rachel morphed into a whirl of energy, fluttering around for oven mitts and dragging out a delicious smelling cherry pie from the oven. Quinn watched from a stool seated at the island, elbows resting on marble, hands cupped underneath her chin.

"Berry, when did you have the time to bake all this?" asked Quinn, eyebrow raised in wonder.

Rachel turned around, frowning until her eyes darted around the kitchen to the stacks of filled Tupperware and baked goods on cooling trays.

"I just began non-vegan baking this morning," she explained while sliding off her oven mitts and piling them in front of her on the counter. "The containers are filled with the vegan varieties I baked yesterday that I have yet to call Brittany to come pick up."

Quinn glanced around again and her hazel eyes slowly turned curious even when her face was marred with a frown. "You bake vegan cookies for Brittany?"

"Well, I only usually bake vegan baked goods; Christmas is just a special occasion where I double my efforts when making desserts." Rachel paused, making her way to the fridge and pulling out ice cream from the freezer before returning back to the island. "I just find baking to be a calming activity I can immerse myself in and my fathers and I couldn't possibly finish everything ourselves."

Rachel watched Quinn eye the ice cream containers hungrily as she lined them up across the counter. The usual Neapolitan of ice cream flavours were standing neatly in a row before Quinn decided to speak.

"I didn't expect you to be so gung-ho for Christmas. Puck told me he just watches _Schindler's List_ and his mother splurges for take-out."

Rachel frowned—silently acknowledging that she was right about the Puckerman Christmas plans—before giving an unexpected shrug of her shoulders. "My daddy and Auntie Robin grew up as Catholics before my daddy converted to Judaism. It was important to them that I be exposed to both holiday customs and now that my Cousin Leon had a child they're making the effort for little Leon as well."

Quinn looked far away, her eyes were glassy as she fell deeper in thought and Rachel was admiring the deeper green tint to her favourite pair of eyes when the blonde quickly snapped out of it. "That's an amazing thing to do for a child. My family was never one for customs or traditions once my sister left the house but before that we'd watch Christmas movies and ice skate, the kind of stuff you're supposed to do around the holidays I guess."

Rachel smiled. "It sounds lovely Quinn."

"I suppose it doesn't matter now anyways though…" The blonde looked down, rubbing her hand over her visible bump. "So anyway, what am I trying first?"

The subject change was so blatant that even Rachel Berry was socially gifted enough to follow that lead. She glanced around the kitchen and smiled. "Anything without a container is something that still requires taste testing. Unfortunately, all my pre-made survey cards were used up last night for the vegan round of testing but if you assure me of your upmost honesty, I'm sure we can carry on without them."

Quinn quickly nodded, eyes zeroing in on the cherry pie that had just been pulled from the oven. Rachel noticed and quietly turned to get the necessary utensils for serving.

Smiling, she moved over to cut a piece for the blonde as Quinn said, "At this point, I'm not sure this baby would let me lie to you about food."

"Well that's good to know. You'll probably be my most happiest taste tester to date once this ordeal comes to a close." She carried the piece of pie toward the blonde, stifling a laugh when the pregnant girl tracked it until it ended up before her. "Now, strawberry, vanilla or chocolate?"

Quinn pointed to vanilla and waited impatiently until Rachel slid the plate further towards her with a nervous smile. Rachel knew it would taste good but impressing Quinn Fabray had always been something she strived for and always failed to do. Remembering her desperate need to make the blonde her friend, Rachel wondered how she didn't know even way back then.

"Oh my gosh," the blonde moaned, her eyes closed, fork sticking out of a mouth full of cherries and piecrust.

Before Rachel could say anything—maybe ask for a more vocal confirmation—Quinn was filling her mouth again with rapid bites of pie. Rachel just looked on with wide eyes before deciding to get the blonde some milk, hoping she at least didn't choke until then.

When Quinn came up for air, Rachel giggled and slid the glass to her, watching as the blushing blonde took an ironically dainty sip.

"I'm right in assuming that you enjoyed the cherry pie, yes?" she asked, smiling softly as her heart continued to rapidly beat.

"Yes," Quinn mumbled, looking down shyly, "it was good."

Rachel clapped. "Excellent. Shall we move on to the cherry cheesecake then? A decision must be made between the two of them, since too much cherry is a party faux pas I will not be making again."

Quinn cocked her eyebrow at the passionate speech before nodding her head. Rachel skipped off to cut another piece of cake for the blonde, this one having been retrieved from the fridge a few minutes before Quinn arrived.

The blonde picked chocolate ice cream this time and Rachel was watching the cake come to its horrific end—almost identical to the cherry pie—when her cell phone started ringing inside the pocket of her jeans. Quinn looked up briefly but quickly continued eating by the time Rachel had fished the device out.

After a fleeting look at the display, Rachel's brow furrowed and she quickly answered it. "Brittany, I thought you were going to be spending the day—"

"Rach, can we come over?" Brittany asked softly, almost sadly.

Rachel glanced at Quinn—who was still eating and attempting to covertly listen to the conversation through bites of cake—before she nodded. "Of course, you're always welcome whenever you like."

There was a voice that sounded like Santana's—Rachel couldn't quite make out what was said—and then Brittany was promising to be there soon before the call came to an abrupt end.

Rachel sighed, slipping the phone back into her pocket while her sixth sense amused itself with pinging off the charts.


	23. Chapter 23

The knock on the door had Rachel rushing passed Quinn—who was now (really) enjoying a trio of cupcakes—and into the front hall. Brittany and Santana were quickly ushered in away from the cold and that's when Rachel realized her blonde friend wasn't in trouble at all.

It was Santana trying her best to act like nothing was wrong—though the glare was admittedly more halfhearted than any Rachel had received from the Latina thus far—her red-rimmed eyes all but gave her away.

Rachel was unsure if she should mention her new revelation out loud. Common sense would have her running in the opposite direction but Rachel Berry always led with her heart, not her head. She wanted to help but Santana was quickly brushing by her—before Rachel could get out a word—and into the washroom shortly after.

Sighing, she turned her attention onto Brittany instead. The girl was standing with her head down in the foyer, teeth gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip and looking lost to the world. Rachel reached out to vie for her attention by grabbing onto her wrist gently and sliding her hand down to squeeze Brittany's own. Blue eyes snapped up and there was not a tear to be found, just an almost tangible pleading that Rachel tried to understand.

Admittedly, this whole situation was backwards. Santana was trying to hide her tears and Brittany was as detached as most would've believed Santana should've been. It was confusing to say the least.

"Are you alright, Brittany?" Rachel asked, the safest, most ubiquitous question in the whole entire world.

Her friend nodded and it was such a blatant lie that Rachel decided to leave it at that after considering the source. She tugged Brittany into the kitchen instead. Quinn looked up when they both walked in, her hazel eyes darting between the two of them and then down to their joined hands in a continuous loop.

"Brit," Quinn acknowledged with a slight tilt of her head.

Brittany offered a small smile. "Hi, Q."

The usual brimming exuberance that was expected—when Brittany was met with a friend—was troublingly absent. Rachel pushed the blonde in the direction of the stool next to Quinn's and whipped around to the island's other side, looking down at the crumbs and carnage left on the pregnant girl's plate.

"So I gather all three cupcakes were a success?"

Quinn glanced away briefly, her cheeks suddenly a cute pink before her eyes flittered back. "Yes, I liked them."

"Lord Tubbington wants cupcakes at his Quinceañera," Brittany blurted out absently, as her eyes were too busy staring at the doorway to the kitchen, most likely waiting for Santana.

Rachel bit her lip, trying to decide if she should make the effort to correct Brittany—since prior experience told her it was all but pointless—but Quinn beat her too it. "B, only girl's can have Quinceañera."

Brittany looked over at Quinn, her eyes glassy with thought until she shrugged. "I told him that but then he called me a racist on his _Twitter_ page."

Blue eyes then fell back to the doorway because obviously being falsely accused by an—admittedly demonic—cat on _Twitter_ was answer enough. Furthermore, it was almost mindboggling to poor Rachel that the feline had managed to attract more followers than her own attempts at self-promotion.

A cruel and mystifying conspiracy—since she doubted Lord Tubbington could maintain a _Twitter_ page without the use of opposable thumbs.

Sighing, Rachel turned her attention back onto Quinn with a small shake of her head. "May I inquire as to which cupcake you enjoyed the most? There is only room for one on the non-vegan menu and while it is not a situation of dire straits yet, I fear if left to the last minute, it could ruin the delicate balance of my entire dessert menu. So if—"

"Q, please answer the Little Debbie before she works herself into a freakin' panic attack and takes the pie down with her when she collapses to the fetal position on the floor."

Santana had obviously strolled in—quickly surveying the kitchen with a quick swipe of her still noticeably red eyes—before settling in on the stool next to Brittany. Rachel watched as the Latina gripped Brittany's hand hard enough to turn the blonde's knuckles white, an act that was way too needy for Santana to do around others. Rachel bit her lip in worry, forgetting herself for a second too long and allowing Santana to realize she'd witnessed her uncharacteristic display.

It was obvious Rachel's mistake had earned her some type of scathing remark—and when Santana dropped Brittany's hand to lean forward with both her elbows on the counter—Rachel swallowed nervously, awaiting the well aimed blow to her self-esteem.

That was until Quinn spoke up. "Red velvet. The frosting was good."

Rachel's attention was hers again instantly and Santana huffed in annoyance before discreetly re-clasping Brittany's hand in between their stools. Quinn seemed happy with staring down at her plate—instead of acknowledging the potential life or death situation she'd defused—so Rachel let the opportunity to mention it pass her by.

"Excellent," she chirped instead and went about writing Quinn's comments on the little clipboard she'd retrieved sometime around the snickerdoodle Quinn had destroyed in one large—slightly disgusting but undoubtedly endearing—bite.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Well that's wonderful, now Berry get me some damn pie."

Rachel noticeably bristled at the comment. Her back snapping up straight—from the slight hunch it fell into while she was writing—and her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Excuse me, Santana but I'm denying your request, as I don't appreciate the uncivilized manor in which you asked. Furthermore, it is especially rude as a guest to treat—"

Santana groaned. "Ay dios mio. You don't shut up, do you?"

"Not when I have something of importance to say," Rachel expended the extra effort to gesture wildly with her hands to get her point across, "and while we're on the topic, I'd appreciate if you refrained from interrupting me during—"

"You best be stopping right there, Mike and Ike 'cause I can't take much—"

"San," sighed Brittany with a noticeable squeeze of Santana's hand. "You promised."

Said girl looked away—staring quite heavily at the tacky ceramic rooster her daddy received as a secret Santa gift from a coworker—with an accompanying scoff to save face. "Fine, whatever. Berry's not worth it anyway."

Scowling, Rachel opened her mouth to dispute the unfounded attack but Brittany was quickly shaking her head, looking at her with those same pleading eyes. "San doesn't mean it, Rach. She's just sad."

Santana ripped her hand away from Brittany's and proceeded to send an unexpected—almost sacrilegious—glare the blonde's way. "I'm fine without them."

Brittany shook her head. "No you're not."

The Latina just rolled her eyes; Brittany answering with a noticeable frown, something Rachel didn't like seeing at all after Santana had promised Rachel otherwise. Quinn was looking curiously between the two—who were now awkwardly avoiding eye contact—hazel pools finally settling on Santana as they narrowed suspiciously.

But nobody seemed interested in talking, which Rachel found to be completely treacherous. She already just barely escaped Santana's retribution the first time, speaking now would be as good as suicide to which Rachel was too vain to ever really attempt. The first time had been a mere accident, remember. Still, she was growing restless and cutting out perfect square brownie pieces would only get her so far.

Sighing, Rachel looked up. "Santana, do you mind if I inquire about what—"

"Yes, I do mind, RuPaul. In fact—"

"San!" Brittany suddenly exclaimed and her eyes were darker than Rachel had ever seen them… because well, she hadn't yet been witness to her friend's anger. "Rachel is trying to be nice. You promised me you wouldn't do this."

The Latina looked noticeably contrite but stubbornly—petulantly—looked away again until Brittany slipped off the stool and pushed passed her to disappear in the hallway.

Santana jumped up the moment Brittany vanished from view but Quinn was quick to hold her back by the arm. "Not a good idea, S."

The Latina broke Quinn's hold with a hard yank.

"Yeah, like you'd know, Q," she scoffed.

The two started glaring at each other—in some type of battle of wills—and Rachel rolled her eyes, taking it upon herself to go after Brittany.

She found her in her room, sitting on her bed with Lithgow cradled in her lap. If her friend didn't look so downtrodden the sight would've been undoubtedly endearing. She slid in next to her and just like all their conversations before Rachel waited.

And Brittany finally looked over at her minutes later. "San's parents kicked her out. They saw me giving her sweet lady kisses in her room."

Rachel blinked away the urge to roll her eyes—at the obvious vocabulary learned from Santana—and quickly reached over to grasp Brittany's hand. She didn't need to ask, Santana had already been more than clear about her family in that rare moment of honesty many weeks ago on the Berry back porch.

"I'm sorry. Based on downstairs' display, I assume she isn't taking it well?" she asked, frowning at Brittany shaking her head.

The blonde looked down. "No, I don't think so. She won't talk about it but she's not the same anymore. I told her I was sorry for kissing her but…"

Rachel quickly turned her body to fully face her friend's, squeezing her hand until blue eyes matched her own. "It's not your fault, Brittany. It wasn't your decision to react in that way. Her parents are to blame, okay?"

The blonde nodded, looking down at Lithgow once again and Rachel wasn't sure if she believed her or not. It was doubtful, just based on the innate human response of guilt in such a situation. Still, Rachel was at a loss, since her fathers—even at their worst—would never throw her to the streets.

She was confident in that.

But Santana and Quinn… they grew up knowing that it was in the realm of possibility. Having to be so disciplined—to always toe the line—it was any wonder why Santana was sociopathic and Quinn was pregnant. The recklessness of being a teenager was a common phase of adolescence, while the brain took its time to mature. Being wound so tight in a box so small, it was damaging to say the least.

"Is there anything I can assist in? Does she have somewhere to stay?" Rachel rushed to ask, since she knew it was something she should've inquired about earlier.

"She's staying at my house," Brittany paused and glanced up, the pleading back in her eyes. "She won't talk about it. She won't let me help."

Rachel nodded. "It's alright, Brittany. We'll figure something out. I'm going to hug you now."

Brittany was quick to latch onto her—head resting comfortably on Rachel's shoulder—and she briefly wondered if she could put Quinn through this. If they finally crossed that bridge—the thought inexplicably scary, since she'd never allowed herself to get that far ahead before—Rachel wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to convince Quinn that this was worth it.

Not when even the messenger ended up this distraught.

Rachel couldn't imagine if Quinn had to go through this a second time, which would be undoubtedly worse after moving back in.

Because as Santana had said: Quinn would do anything to get it all back.

* * *

_A Christmas Story_ was a timeless classic, so Rachel reasoned—while she'd perused the holiday movie selection on pay-per-view—that Quinn's childhood Christmas' had to have included it. Yes, as suspected, this was her newly revisited (revised) solution for her recent floundering of words, though Rachel suspected there was a more floundering around Quinn aspect involved in her underlying problem of not being able to translate thought to screen.

At any rate, the movie needed to be perfect because a Rachel Berry plan was always executed with a flawless grace that made the right holiday feature a must. Quinn's only recent sharing of the activities her family indulged in during Christmas—and Brittany and Santana's subsequent unplanned arrival—left her very little time in ways of execution.

When Santana and Brittany had finally left, not that she minded having them, especially after what they were going through, it was just Santana took a mighty long time apologizing to Brittany in Rachel's bedroom, well, apologizing was a kind word.

Honestly, Rachel's favourite duvet—horrifically debauched by Santana's apologies—was in line for a fiery death in the not so distant future.

She needed to purchase a new one anyway—now more than ever.

At least Brittany had been contentious enough to turn Lithgow's eyes away, though she suspected the sounds were enough to scar the poor stuff animal for life.

She was sorry, so sorry she wasn't brave enough to save him.

Still, as she was saying, Rachel only had mere moments to put her plan into action once the two feral debauchers had left. Quinn had excused herself to the bathroom and Rachel set about assembling a snack tray—candy, microwave popcorn, chips and dip—before racing downstairs to compile a potential list of movies.

All in the plan to ultimately give Quinn the best Christmas she could, since Rachel doubted Noah had the foresight to accommodate for Quinn's holiday preferences. Skating was going to require much more thought—with a pregnant girl involved—but Christmas movies was very accomplishable in a bathroom break time frame—at least for Rachel Berry.

"Berry," Quinn's voice filtered down the stairs, her slow steps following after as she descended into the Berry basement. "Are you down here?"

Rachel nodded but then remembered she wasn't visible to Quinn. "Yes. Since you were interested in staying, I thought we could view a movie together."

The blonde slipped onto the couch beside her—a cushion separating them—her hazel eyes scanning the list of movies as their titles passed by on the TV screen.

"Christmas movies. You really want to watch Christmas movies, Berry?"

Rachel let her thumb slipped off of the button on the remote—the screen abruptly going still—before turning to look at Quinn.

"Yes, I have to admit I haven't seen many of these, just the most famous ones, but I thought that maybe we could watch one," she explained, her hands starting to anxiously twist around the remote. "Only if you'd like to, of course."

Quinn slowly nodded and Rachel answering beaming smile had the blonde looking back at the screen with a pink tinge to her cheeks. Rachel felt her heart start beating madly, as she tried to scroll her way through the rest of the movie list.

Until Quinn stopped her, that is.

"Wait, stop there, Berry." Rachel obviously did—almost immediately. "We should watch this one."

She looked at the screen. _Christmas Vacation_. Her auntie liked this one and it was a good choice, especially for the always-saddened Quinn. This would ultimately bring many more humourous moments than her previous classic pick, and well, Rachel wasn't about to disagree with the blonde right now anyway.

"I concur. I believe this movie will be an excellent start to our Christmas movie marathon."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Marathon. What makes you think I won't leave after this one?"

Rachel had been around Quinn enough to know the girl would use whatever she said as reason to leave. The blonde was stubborn enough to do something she didn't want to do just to prove her wrong and Rachel knew Quinn hated it at Noah's.

She wasn't sure why. Santana had already needlessly warned her not to ask if she wanted Quinn's presence at her house to continue. In the blonde's world, the unstated fuelled her fondness for ignorance—because it wasn't of reality if it wasn't said—something that Rachel found worryingly unhealthy but she was too selfish to put a stop to it.

Rachel wanted Quinn there. Desperately.

So she shrugged and set about purchasing the movie. Quinn huffed and settled in further into the couch, something Rachel smiled softly at.

And as suspected, when the movie came to an end, Quinn agreed to stay for another one. Rachel was just coming back from her own bathroom break, when she realized Quinn had moved to the middle of the couch. Her graceful strides came to an abrupt halt, as she tried to figure out where to sit—since Rachel figured snuggling in next to Quinn was a bit presumptuous.

"Berry, what the hell are you doing?" the blonde sighed and Rachel decided she probably did appear rather inept standing beside the couch staring at Quinn. "Sit down. The movie is going to start and even you aren't tiny enough to see over when you're right in front of my face."

Rachel huffed but quickly slid into her spot. Quinn was eating her way through the popcorn in her lap—she gave up trying to figure out how the blonde could still be hungry when the squirrel attacked in the first movie—and both sat watching as the opening credits for _Bad Santa_ appeared on the screen.

This one Rachel hadn't seen and it didn't take long to figure out why, though it was admittedly humourous in a twisted—mostly disgusting—kind of way. Yet Quinn was laughing, so Rachel didn't mind so much.

Quinn moved to place the—half empty—bowl on the table and leaned back, resting her hands on her stomach with that same gentle caress Rachel had caught Quinn doing many times before.

"What's it like?" Rachel found herself blurting out. "Having… carrying another being inside of you."

Rachel thought for sure Quinn was going to run—or punch her in the nose—but the blonde just looked at her with hazel eyes that were a little softer.

"It's tiring," Quinn finally said, looking down at her stomach with almost a wistful smile, "like walking around with a bowling ball in your uterus. I do everything slower, some things I can't even do at all."

Rachel frowned. "There must be something good that accompanies it. Surely, bringing a life into the world isn't completely horrific."

"I don't know what to tell you, Berry," Quinn sighed with a slight shrug.

Rachel nodded and looked back towards the movie, fleetingly thinking about her own mother, the one that all but disappeared when she was born. Intellectually, Rachel knew she was nothing more than a donor of sorts, but the woman was still a part of her, still her mother.

Rachel almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a warmth surround her hand. Looking down, her eyes almost rolled back when she realized Quinn was holding her hand.

"Quinn… I don't…" she mumbled, her brain a discombobulated haze of sentences, words she wanted to say but couldn't quite piece together.

An extreme of the night she read Quinn's _MySpace_ post—Quinn's hand was soft, a tiny bit greasy from the buttered popcorn but all together perfect.

Rachel felt like she was spinning.

"Sometimes…" Quinn started and Rachel wanted to squeeze her hand—to show some type of support—but she didn't dare move. "Sometimes I feel like she's a part of me, like she knows how I'm feeling and she feels like that too just because she cares about me. I just… she makes me happy."

Rachel wasn't sure when it happened but she was staring into Quinn's eyes. She didn't know for how long and admittedly, they've done this so many times before, but this time just felt different. This time felt like she was seeing the real Quinn—the one that she'd only ever connected with through a computer screen—not the one that Santana had freely referred to as a 'bleeding heart's wet dream.'

This moment was too much to be a purposely-crafted moment to keep her interested. Quinn was undoubtedly good at making moments seem like they're bigger moments than they are but her unborn baby was something Quinn had to be previously blackmailed into talking about.

Rachel smiled. "That was explicitly beautiful, Quinn. You deserve to be happy, you know. Regardless of how it came to be, the bond you have with your baby is something special, Quinn."

Because Rachel would undoubtedly know. She'd never met her mother—at least not when she could remember—and this faceless woman still held a piece of Rachel's heart, as if it were her own.

But, unfortunately Rachel didn't realize—until it was too late—that she'd said too much. Quinn's eyes shifted back to that hardened greenish gold and the warmth of her hand disappeared before Rachel could even vie for it to stay.

"If you say so, Berry," Quinn quipped, already turning her attention back to the television.

Rachel inwardly berated her need for excess—pushing because she wanted everything too much—while the movie was finished in silence.

Quinn left shortly after that.

* * *

Rachel watched her daddy flip her vegan-friendly pancake while humming along to Patsy Cline on the radio. Dad and her auntie were amicably exchanging pieces of the morning paper, as they read through mouthfuls of coffee and Rachel decided now would be the perfect time to spring the next part of her plan.

Christmas was undeniably better with family and while Quinn's own parents heinously denied the blonde her own, Rachel was hoping hers would be an (even better) stand in. Of course, her fathers needed to agree—something that they hadn't had the best track record with lately—so Rachel was hoping her aunt's presence would sort them out.

Breathing deeply, Rachel placed her fruit juice back onto the counter and folded her hands in front of her on the counter. "Fathers, Auntie. I believe now is the perfect time to commence the family meeting Dad promised me I was with in my right to call about our holiday celebrations that have us all regrettably stranded in Lima."

Her dad took off his glasses, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose in obvious exasperation. "Rachel, I've already explained to you that no amount of complaining on your part is going to change our mind. Christmas is going to be held here, end of story."

"Oh Father, not to worry, this isn't about that," explained Rachel, smiling brightly in an attempt to ease his weariness. "Though I hardly find the current circumstances as they are ideal, I've come to accept that fact to be true. In fact, as you can see I've already taken steps to rectify the situation, hence the amaze of decorations and Christmas baking."

Daddy admittedly looked suspicious, since he more than anybody understood her love of New York's bright lights. Her dad was always a small town guy—the Finn Hudson of his time—so it made it especially hard for him to understand her position. Rachel didn't fault him, he'd always been enthusiastic in all her dreams and endeavors and that was really all she could ask for. But her daddy understood. He knew how suffocating this town was, how New York was grand and bright and allowed her to breath without being labeled the loud and obnoxious daughter of two gay men. He had undoubtedly realized that she wouldn't be giving in so easily without some type of ulterior motives.

"Honey, do you mind telling us what caused this radical change from last week when you threatened to sell your twenty three copies of _Funny Girl_ to fund your escape to Manhattan?" her daddy asked, head tilted in curiosity.

Rachel nodded. "Why yes, Father, I'm glad you asked. You see I recently decided it would be selfish of me to leave Lima when one of my friends is in need over the holiday season. Though, all twenty-three copies was a little excessive Father. I only ever contemplated selling fifteen."

"My mistake," he sighed with a fond roll of his eyes.

Rachel beamed in response until her auntie cut in. "Rachel, how is this friend of yours in trouble enough for you to so drastically change your tune?"

"Oh well," Rachel started, experately pausing with theatricality in mind, as she felt every conversation needed just a tinge of drama. "Quinn was recently kicked out of her house when her then boyfriend decided to sing _You're Having my Baby_ at a family dinner to tell them she was pregnant."

Rightfully so, all three adults looked dumbstruck because, honestly, Finn was an idiot. Rachel didn't enjoy putting people down—even Finn after everything he'd done to her—but this was too ridiculous for even Rachel to let pass, privately at least. Though while on the Finn topic, he had stopped texting her once she let him know—in a cleverly worded text back—that she was on to his plan to seduce her. Rachel was hoping it was enough to ensure she'd be able to figure out what to do about him much later.

"That's…" her daddy started but quickly trailed off with a shake of his head.

Her dad tried next and he didn't seem to have the same problem. "Quinn's the one that bullied you, right Rachel?"

"Yes, but we're friends now and I've decided to forgive her for her past transgressions so I don't appreciate you holding them against her either." Rachel glanced at all three adults one-by-one before continuing. "Quinn might've not made the best choices, and admittedly a lot of people were hurt, but she's trying to make up for it, at least with me and I feel like that should be enough."

Her dad frowned "But Rach—"

"She can stay, dear. Nobody should be without family on Christmas and I can see she's important to you. We are more than happy to have her," her auntie exclaimed while glaring at both her dads until they were nodding in agreement.

Daddy smiled. "Yes, the more the merrier. I look forward to meeting her new and improved."

Her dad preferred to stay quiet—and pout—but Rachel vowed to work on him later. Sometimes, he was just too protective for his own good but she loved him anyway.

Rachel then set about hugging her auntie and thanking her with many overly zealous kisses on the cheek.


	24. Chapter 24

The day was relatively bright for the winter months—the fresh blanket of snow beneath her feet was twinkling under the rays of the sun—so Rachel decided sunglasses were a perfectly acceptable accessory for a leisurely walk into town. Plus, the dark shades complimented the overall spirit of her fedora and trench coat ensemble entirely too well to just leave them behind. Authenticity was important to any Rachel Berry sanctioned mission, even at times such as this, when she was out locating the necessary items to ensure she was dutifully prepared for the next phase of her master plan to bring Quinn Christmas.

Though, admittedly, she hadn't put on such wear yesterday—when searching through many video stores for the last item that had yet to be found on her necessary items list—but today's excursion was perhaps in need of a little undercover anonymity, as it was on the slightly illegal side of things.

Depending on who was asked, of course.

Still, taking into account her dress, her insistence for codenames and the relative secluded nature of meeting at a non-descript bench in the park—Rachel was certain her involvement in such matters would forever be concealed from the world.

Paper in hand, she slid on to the bench—making sure to be reading the (rather abysmal) entertainment section the Lima News had to offer—to ensure her contact would know it was safe to approach. Sighing, Rachel flipped passed reports of Lindsey Lohan's newest act of self destruction—and oh look her father was able to comment on how worried he was about her again, how quaint—and was skimming over the newest movie reviews when her phone rang.

Rachel fumbled with it in her haste to identify her caller because Quinn still hadn't called her back to accept her invitation to come over, which unknowingly allowed Rachel the opportunity to implement the next phase of her plan. Her previous blunder—though completely innocent in its nature—obviously had Quinn reeling enough to run. But Rachel was confident it would be solved with time—or at the very least long exposure to Noah Puckerman—so she vowed to worry about the Quinn-sized gapping hole in her plan when the other parts were fully complete.

And with _Defying Gravity_ blaring out into her otherwise silent surroundings—effectively ruining her undercover anonymity—Rachel hastily answered the call to stop the extremely recognizable ringtone from permeating to any ears within hearing distance.

That was when Brittany's voice blared out from the speaker. "Hi, Rachel. I know you told me not to call because you were under the covers for Quinn but Lord Tubbington reminded me that pregnant cats don't like being petted on their stomachs and I wanted to tell you so you'd know not to pet Quinn's while you're down there under the covers."

Rachel sputtered out a few astonished stutters before clearing her throat and trying again. "Brit…Brittany, why would you think… actually I believe my best course of action is to avoid clarification at all costs. But, cats really don't like their stomach's touched while their pregnant? I wasn't aware of that."

"Lord Tubbington knocked up Charity on their wedding night," Brittany deadpanned and Rachel followed it with a rather unattractive snort.

"I had no idea they were wed." Rachel sat on the bench with a slightly perplexed look on her face. "That certainly explains those rings attached to their collars."

"San bought them those."

Rachel burst out laughing, practically giggling manically in the park that was thankfully still virtually empty. Of course, Rachel instantly sobered when she remembered. "How is she doing?"

Brittany sighed. "She goes away by herself sometimes and then comes back after drinking lots. She only says it wasn't my fault when I said sorry again."

Rachel bit her lip, silently thanking Santana for being able to do something right whilst in the midst of personal crisis. "I'm sure she'll come around Brittany. You just need to keep trying to let her know she has support and people that care about her."

"I know," mumbled Brittany, her dejected tone freely plucking at Rachel's heartstrings one-by-one. "It's just weird being, Santana."

Rachel couldn't help smiling fondly at the honest comment, wishing Brittany were there with her to hug. "From what I've gathered, sometimes Santana is undeniably inept at taking care of herself but you 're always there to do it for her. You've been Santana all along, Brittany."

There was a pregnant pause, something Rachel never did well with, but she tried for Brittany. Rachel could just imagine the blonde's scrunched up brow as she contemplated the facts of life. Rachel found herself stifling giggles at the ridiculous pun.

"I think we'll be best friends forever," Brittany finally said. Rachel's whole face brightened and she felt her heart swell because Brittany was something that she always wanted: a real best friend. "San might not say it but I know you're her best friend too, Rach. I think you should talk to her like last time."

And Rachel's bright outlook on life quickly spiralled and flashed darkly before her very eyes. "Brittany, I don't think such a thing would be a good idea. As you saw last time I asked, Santana was not interested in my help, I assure you."

Brittany sighed. "She is, Rach. It's just, I was there and so was Q. You need to talk to her by herself. She doesn't like talking in front of big crowds."

Alone—with a sociopathic, would-be therapist-stabbing murderer suffering from stage fight?

Her life expectancy would be drastically in the house's favour. Rachel did—after all—like to indulge in the odd television bingo ticket, so she would undoubtedly know.

"Brittany, I'm not sure—"

"Please! " Brittany interrupted, the tangible pleading in her voice made it so hard for Rachel to knowingly disappoint her. "I know I can get Q to come to your house. She was really cold at Puck's when San went to tell him the Christmas party was off."

For those people that thought an innocent girl like Brittany Pierce couldn't possibly have taught Rachel how to hustle. Well, that was undoubtedly not the case.

Rachel swallowed. "I suppose I could schedule a meeting in public with Santana for later this week."

"Yay!"

Rachel thought she heard Brittany clap, or as Brittany liked to refer to it as hi-fiving herself, and then—

"Rachel? Why are you wearing sunglasses and that weird hat?"

Her eyes snapped up and there he was. The contact she was waiting on: Mike Chang.

"I'll call you later, Brittany."

She snapped the phone closed—quickly slipping it into her jacket pocket as she stood—and zeroed her eyes in on her Glee pal. "Mike I told you to only refer to me by codename. Tinker Bella. I run a haberdashery in London until I make a name for myself on the international stage. I'm sure that couldn't possibly be all that complicated to remember."

Mike's eyes widened as his grip tightened on the straps of his backpack. "But I already know who you are. A codename is to keep our conversation anonymous between ourselves but that wouldn't work because I already know your name."

His explanation did have some merit and maybe she could've possibly drawn the wrong conclusion from her previous research on the spy game while preparing for her role.

"Fine," Rachel sighed, reluctantly slipping off the fedora—and sunglasses—because the need for them had unceremoniously vanished. "Do you have what I inquired about yesterday?"

The boy nodded, slipping off his backpack, unzipping it and holding it out for her to inspect. Rachel peered in and her face brightened at the sight. She leaned back and he handed it to her with a slight nod.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked up at her sheepishly. "Do you have—"

Rachel had planned to make payment by passing off her previously sealed envelope by slipping it inside her newspaper but Mike had heinously ruined that only moments before. When the envelope exchanged hands and Rachel had placed the backpack over her shoulder, they awkwardly stood staring at each other, not sure what to do.

Finally, Rachel said, "Well, I wish you luck with the—"

"Yeah, thanks," Mike uttered quickly, blushing at the words he'd just managed to stop her from mentioning. "And...um…you as well, you know with the—"

"Yes," Rachel too interrupted, glancing around, eyes wide for possible eavesdroppers, which she couldn't seem to find, "thank you."

Mike teetered uncertainly for a moment longer before giving her one last nod. "Well, see yeah, Rachel."

"Yes, good day to you too, Mike."

Both then went their separate ways, bright smiles pasted on their faces as they eagerly clutched their negotiated prize.

* * *

Santana was relatively easy to find this time around, mostly because Brittany told her exactly where to go. Though Rachel preferred to omit that fact to keep Santana's recently adopted and extremely terrifying habit—of disappearing to places unknown, alone, for many hours at a time—out of mind. Intellectually she knew, Santana preferred to brood unaccompanied but Rachel's flare for the dramatic had her almost convinced that Santana was out lining the walls of some dingy motel room in sheeted plastic.

But of course, when Rachel had arrived, she didn't find any of that: just a lonely Santana, sitting on the bank of the partially iced over pond behind McKinley High School. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't so much a pond as it was a sinkhole filled with rainwater beyond the fenced off football field. Evidently, Brittany liked feeding the ducks there in the spring and summer months, amongst other rather reprehensible things Brittany also felt the need to explain over the phone.

Rachel came to a stop just behind Santana and the girl turned, her unusually hazy eyes rolling when she spotted her. "Looking mighty festive today, Berry. A snowman hat, glove and scarf set. What would Abraham think?"

The quip was incredibly tame—at least for Santana—and taking a step closer allowed her to spot why. There in Santana's hands was some type of alcoholic beverage, the fact it was wrapped in a paper bag just made it all the more dreadfully sad. Though Rachel supposed—based solely on the (often overused but plot driving) drowning of ones sorrows in Hollywood film—Santana was entitled, or at the very least expected to be inebriated during this pivotal moment.

Rachel briefly thought about Quinn and how this fundamental step towards acceptance—this moment of self-loathing—had never been afforded to her. Having somebody else to care for had her forever stalled on the fourth step. Fate was very much life's heinous and cruel tyrant in that regard.

Sighing, she gingerly sat down next to Santana. The ground was hard and cold but at least the tree cover had kept it clear of snow. Small miracles, Rachel supposed.

"I must say that this wasn't what I was expecting." Rachel gestured around them—at the trees, the pond, the broken chain link fence—and finally stopping at the bottle Santana took a sip from, she imagined in an attempt to spite. "I suppose assuming I'd be finding you at least somewhere in doors because of the below zero temperatures was completely absurd on my part."

Santana's answering smirk actually looked brighter than Rachel was sure the brunette wanted and then she said, "Sarcasm, me likes."

The Latina took another sip from her bottle—her hands crimsoned by the cold—and Rachel sighed. "Yes, its presence seems to be a staple characteristic in your personality. Now do you think you could possibly put down the alcoholic beverage long enough to put these on? Brittany insisted you wear them."

Rachel pulled out the red wooly mittens from her coat pocket, holding them out and enticingly moving them back and forth for Santana to take. She sighed in relief when the Latina quickly snatched them from her grasp.

Silence fell over them after that while Santana struggled to put on the mittens, her numb fingers probably making it extremely difficult. Santana had just managed to put on one but her motor skills failed her enough to have the alcohol bottle tumble to the ground. Liquid spilled out and everything smelt like peaches by the time the Latina had a chance to reposition it.

When finally successful, Santana turned to look at Rachel with what looked like tears in her eyes. "Brittany knitted them for me last Christmas."

The sight before Rachel was at least moderately surprising. Her jaw did admittedly drop a fraction because even after seeing the girl's tears in her front hall days ago and knowing of Santana's tendency to be an overly emotional drunk—thanks to Brittany—Rachel couldn't help but still be somewhat shocked. After all, this was Santana Lopez—lifetime torturer of Rachel Berry crying into a bottle of Peach Schnapps.

"They're lovely," offered Rachel just in an attempt to fill the awkward silence, or what she thought would be because Santana was already talking.

"Her favourite colours red," Santana cried and Rachel tentatively—awkwardly—reached out to pat the tearful girl's shoulder.

When Santana didn't try to claw her eyes out—or something equally as vicious—Rachel slowly relaxed with a few deep breaths. "I know she means a lot to you Santana, which is why I can't deduce why you're alone and intoxicated behind the school."

Santana sniffed—rather unattractively Rachel might add—her running nose making a dreadful sound. "This is her favourite place to go. She likes ducks. Did you know that, Berry?"

"Yes, Santana. I am aware," she explained, an amused tint to her tone. "It's quite peculiar that you and Brittany both flock to places that are reminiscent of each other during times of crisis. Especially when you can just go to each other."

This Santana Lopez was—dare she say it—almost charming in her earnestness. It also helped that for once, Rachel was quite confident in her life expectancy around the brunette.

"She's going to hate me, Berry." Santana then tried wiping her eyes with the backs of her mittens, which only seemed to smear the tears further across her face.

Rachel's brow furrowed, not quite understanding Santana's latest confession. "How could she possibly? She's extremely worried about you, Santana. She's even blaming herself for the entire occurrence that day. I assure you that you're wholly mistaken."

"I know." Santana started drinking again, this time in a furry of sips until she ended up coughing from the burn in her throat.

"Holy mother of Barbra!" Rachel screeched, Santana cringed and hardly put up a fight when Rachel snatched the bottle away. "What would possess you to do such a thing?"

Santana's shoulders slumped. "I want them back. My parents."

"Is that all? Of course you do, Santana. That is…" Rachel trailed off—biting her lip as her sixth sense started to ping—because by the way Santana was looking at her—with that same pleading that she'd seen in Brittany's eyes so many times before—Rachel finally got it. "They're requiring you to choose."

Rachel withdrew a couple tissues for her pocket and thrust them in Santana's direction. The girl started wiping and mumbled, "I left with Brittany because I can't lose her again but I still…"

Sighing, Rachel let go of Santana's shoulder and fiddled with the stolen Schnapps bottle in her lap. "I'm sure if you spoke to them again when things are not so fresh, it might be different. You owe it to yourself to try, Santana."

The Latina seemed to have found her equilibrium somewhere in her few sentences of advice because she was only letting out the odd sniffle, something Rachel thanked the heavens for. Still, the abrupt change in behaviour was a little disconcerting to say the least.

Santana sighed. "Look… thanks for this or whatever. You're actually a good listener when you're not talking way too fucking loud."

Rachel beamed in response—Santana shuddered at the sight of her smile—and Rachel finally felt like everything was back to normal, if only for a moment. "You're welcome, Santana. I know you'd never admit to a friendly bond between the two of us, but I just want to tell you that I'll always see you as my friend regardless of such hang-ups."

"And there you go ruining everything by running your mouth," groaned Santana with a shake of her head. "Seriously, where's my booze? I need to drown out your voice."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "First, I find your sudden shift in personality to be most unsettling. Though I do think such a release of emotions is especially healthy, alcohol should not be used as a crutch to vie for such results. It is extremely dangerous and I can't in good conscience—"

"I'm an emotional drunk, Berry," explained Santana, a sudden nonchalance followed that naturally had Rachel back on edge. "The swings come and go but you should be thanking your lucky stars that I don't turn homicidal like your dear Quinnie does. Speaking of, how goes it with, Tubbers? She still pretending she isn't hopelessly devoted to your midget ass?"

"Santana, I'm just expressing my worry for your emotional state, especially when you're using poorly flavoured alcohol as—"

"Fine, I'm not drinking, now stop stalling and answer the damn question."

Rachel sighed. "I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to progress at her chosen pace but I'm confident that in time it will yield positive results."

"She's just going to hurt you, Berry." Santana shook her head, turning to look back out at the dreary pond. "I hear Hudson is still creaming at the nipples for a chance at your cherry, Berry."

Santana was of course obnoxiously laughing at her own (garish) pun and Rachel gasped, eyes narrowed with a dark scandalized tint. "That's quite vulgar, Santana and I don't appreciate—"

"Yeah, yeah." Santana waved her off with a roll of her eyes. "Just remember what I said because you know I'll be there to rub it in your face."

A beat of silence and then poor Rachel couldn't wait any longer.

"How do you know?" she sighed, silently cursing herself for being so weak. "You left for Brittany. Doesn't that mean—"

"No, Berry it doesn't." Santana turned back to look at her, eyes still hazy but her tone utterly serious. "I promised Brittany I'd never choose them over her again. That's the only reason I left. Can she really promise you the same thing?"

Rachel didn't have the heart to reply but she supposed that already made her answer abundantly clear.

* * *

Quinn showed up at her door, just as Brittany promised and honestly Rachel was almost positive Brittany could achieve world domination if she so wanted to. Because Quinn Fabray was actually standing on her front porch—pink cheeks matching her chosen baby doll dress—looking as apologetic as Rachel has ever seen her.

Rachel felt faint when the girl started in on a mumbled stream of apologies and excuses. "I didn't mean to ignore your calls. I was just feeling kind of sick and could I come in because I'm really cold."

She was quickly stepping back and ushering the blonde in. "That's quite all right, Quinn. Would you like a hot beverage maybe? I'm not opposed to turning on the fireplace downstairs if you're still feeling cold."

Quinn didn't smile but there was also no sarcastic quip to be had. Just a soft, "Okay, that sounds nice."

Rachel found it hilarious that Santana would be Pinky if her 'take over the world' analogy ever came into fruition.

By the time the hot chocolate was ready and the fireplace switch was flipped, both girl were downstairs as they were days before. Only this time, Rachel's plan didn't involve Christmas movies but ice-skating. Not literally of course but never let it be said that Rachel Berry wasn't resourceful.

"You want to play this, Berry?" Quinn asked, when Rachel placed a control in her hand. "Do you even know how?"

Rachel nodded. "I admit I'm not very good but I have been dutifully practicing since receiving the game yesterday."

Quinn glanced at the controller and then down at the _Xbox_ —compliments of Mike Chang and a handful of vouchers for Breadstix—before nodding. "Okay, which game?"

Rachel eagerly pushed the power button and the console whirled to life, lighting up and starting up her chosen game with a few quick presses of the control. She'd found the game online and Mike had been thoughtful enough to copy it and loan her his specially modified system for such things. They would be skating, at the very least vicariously through Sasha Cohen.

"I thought this would be appropriate," she explained while waving a hand to gesture towards the screen, "and I was assured that while some of the in-game features are rather lacklustre, the graphics are astoundingly lifelike."

"Figure skating?" Quinn said softly and Rachel realized the blonde looked rather cute when baffled. Then hazel eyes looked up into hers. "You didn't have to do this, Berry."

Rachel tried her best to mirror Quinn's previous confusion while sipping slowly from her mug. "Do what? If you're referring to the hot chocolate then it was really no trouble at all. Besides in your current condition, you shouldn't be risking your health by—"

"Berry," Quinn voice suddenly found that manic angry tinge from somewhere at the top of the Cheerio pyramid. "I figured it out. The movies, this game, they're all things I mentioned to you that I did on Christmas."

Rachel sighed because while she was confident that eventually Quinn would figure it out, she was hoping that it wouldn't be this soon. Still, she supposed it would be futile to continue with ignorance for any longer. "Fine, I suppose I did plan today's activity with such things in mind but essentially the origin doesn't negate the activity all together."

Quinn continued staring at her with those dark hazel eyes that Rachel had long since learned to stay away from. Plummeting into a haze of Quinn Fabray with the girl in such close proximity—just a couch cushion away—would be utterly disastrous, so Rachel busied herself with setting up the game.

When Quinn finally looked away and started skimming through the selection for a figure skating avatar, Rachel just barely stifled a sigh of relief. Her poor heart was coaxed into a fit of palpitations and her hand trembled just a tiny bit as she clicked on the button to start her first run.

Things were undoubtedly tense for the first few rounds and Quinn was thoroughly beating her—quite badly—but the thrill of the winner's circle was slowly but surely winning the blonde over. She was smiling—and laughing every time Rachel abysmally failed the button combo for a trick—things were going relatively good until—Rachel supposed—they weren't.

Rachel had just suffered her fourth straight defeat and Quinn was suddenly looking at her, eyes that same dark hazel once again. "Why did you do this?"

So many things flitted through Rachel's mind— _I don't like seeing you sad, I know it was you, I think I love you_ —but none of those made it passed her lips. She'd promised herself—and was subsequently threatened with a Plan C redux (which now included extreme torture before death) compliments of Santana—Rachel would wait for Quinn.

So, she censored her speech down to, "Because I wanted too and as your friend, I felt the need to demonstrate that one act doesn't have to spoil the joys of life."

Quinn just continued to stare at her, her eyebrow slowly rising. "Joys of life, Berry?"

Rachel quickly nodded. "Well yes. If I'm not mistaken, Christmas has been internationally branded by a jolly Saint Nick, who admittedly defies the laws of physics in such a way that only magic can explain how a rather portly man can squeeze himself down chimneys or into houses without chimneys at all. But as I was saying, he's rather joyous, isn't he Quinn?"

The blonde rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. "You're insane, Berry."

Rachel shrugged, seemingly not bothered with the accusation. "But I am right."

"Maybe."

Rachel was quick to answer with a beaming—rather victorious—grin.


	25. Chapter 25

The hustle and bustle inside the mall had Rachel admittedly worried. Her low centre of gravity rarely boded well for her in overly crowded mobs, especially ones desperately shopping for last minute Christmas gifts. With the grandiose holiday a little over two weeks away, the overall atmosphere in Lima's only relatively decent shopping mecca was unquestionably aggressive.

Still, Brittany insisted she come because the blonde had yet to choose between gifting an industrial grade juicer or a vibrator to Quinn for Christmas, as it was apparently (and unsurprisingly) difficult to find a common likeness between the two. Rachel had agreed—despite the irrefutable evidence of her upcoming mental anguish present in that very sentence—because as it turned out it was extremely hard to deny Brittany.

Not that such a thing was at all shocking. Over the course of their friendship, Rachel had never been close to successfully refusing anything Brittany really wanted from her. In all honestly, if Rachel even remotely stopped to dwell on it, she'd wonder why she had ever expected too, as this was the girl that had effectively domesticated Santana Lopez with little (to no) effort at all.

But, that didn't take away from the fact Rachel was at the mall, her hands weighed down by the best juicer money could buy and a festively red dildo—with an equally festively smelling lube—because Brittany still couldn't manage to decide on either one. Rachel had tried her best to talk the blonde into purchasing a very nice cashmere scarf instead but as suspected poor Quinn would probably be opening both of Brittany's (happiness inspired) gifts on December the twenty-fifth.

Suddenly Brittany was stopping mid-skip and grabbing at Rachel's free hand excitedly. "Can we go in there?"

Rachel turned and looked up and into the store Brittany was eagerly pointing at. One of those garishly expensive jewelry stores with impeccability polished glass cases and employees in fashionably tailored dark suits. Her dads bought the Star of David she wore there, a Hanukkah gift from many years ago.

"Of course, Brittany. Are you looking to purchase Quinn something in there that will hopefully see the return of these…" Rachel held up the bags, deliberating on her words for only a moment, "fabulous gifts before the holiday return policy expires?"

Unfortunately, her friend was shaking her head and just as eagerly dragging her in the store's direction seconds later. "No, nothing in here will make Q happy, unless it is from you."

Rachel watched Brittany, bounce from case-to-case in an animated frenzy of limbs. Her blue eyes traced over the expensive trinkets and Rachel found her own attention drawn to them too.

Rings, bracelets, necklaces… she supposed Brittany was right. Every girl loved getting jewelry; Quinn Fabray couldn't possibly be an exception—regarding jewelry at least. Still, the carat of a diamond seemed a little too excessive a gift for a girl that Rachel hadn't even managed to confess an attraction to out loud yet.

It was very much a work in progress but Rachel was at least trying to attempt to reign in her natural affliction for overzealousness when wanting things too much, something Santana took it upon herself to assist in by sending daily texts depicting Rachel's beloved owl sweater with giant pinking shears resting beside it. And after the nightgown incident, Rachel wasn't about to tempt fate, even though she desperately wanted to.

Her eyes continued to gaze at the jewelry though. Everything in the store was quite spectacular and Brittany had unintentionally spurred Rachel's imagination into thinking about such brilliance dazzling while worn by Quinn.

Biting her lip, Rachel reluctantly looked away, finding Brittany leaning over a case a couple feet away. "Is there something specific you're looking for?"

The blonde's head snapped up and she eagerly nodded. "Lord Tubbington told me San bought me a necklace with my name on it for Christmas and I wanted to get her one with mine so we can trade and pretend to be each other like the Olsen twins."

"Oh that's…" Rachel was beginning to suspect she'd always be paused at an impasse awaiting the right words when faced with Brittany, "quite endearing. I never would've suspected that Santana would be capable of such romance but it has become rather apparent that my initial sociopathic diagnosis appears to be somewhat flawed."

Brittany was unfortunately too distracted—by a pendant—to offer any insight in her failed prognosis and it seemed Rachel wasn't the only one that realized as such. An employee—an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and startlingly dark eyes—quickly zeroed in on their location, standing in front of them both in seconds with a warm smile.

"I see something has caught your eye, yes?" he asked, looking between them curiously.

Brittany's gaze snapped up to his and she started rapidly nodding before glancing down again. "I like this one but it says Veronica. San would get confused just like Lord Tubbington did when I named all his kitty babies after him."

Rachel swallowed down the urge to giggle—because she totally understood Lord Tubbington's angry plight a little better now—and looked over at Brittany.

"I believe such a thing is easy to rectify," she paused, smiling at her blonde friend before turning to the man, currently looking at them just as confused as Rachel usually was. "Is it possible to purchase this piece with a custom name?"

He blinked—his nametag identified him as Charles in a slightly more than elaborate font—and after a beat he seemed to fall back into the art of a salesman rather seamlessly.

"Yes, yes, of course. This particular piece is actually crafted by a private maker, who just recently agreed to allow us to commercially broker his work." Charles' obvious enthusiasm was something Brittany effortlessly adopted as she impatiently bounced on the balls of her feet while they listened. "With the same design as the one on display, we'd be able to have it ready for pick up within a week's time."

Brittany looked up at him with a Cheshire grin, as her excitement was simply impossible to contain any longer. "So I'll be able to get one that says Santana?"

"Absolutely," Charles nodded. "Just let me get an order form and we can fill in the blanks."

He walked into the back room and Brittany spent her time gazing at her chosen item with faraway eyes. It was brilliantly crafted. Beautifully scripted—as if written fast and furiously with almost delicate care—each letter was a glossy gold, outlined in silver with just an inch of black onyx separating the two precious metals from meeting in the middle. She supposed that Brittany would be the only person capable of finding something so inexplicably reminiscent of Santana in the name of switching identities like iconic child star twins.

Rachel shook her head. "I expect Santana will love your gift, Brittany."

Said girl looked up with another large smile. "I know. She said she'd like it and then I made her promise to be surprised when she opened it on Christmas morning."

This time Rachel did giggle because just the thought of an over-exaggerated look of shock on Santana Lopez's usually violent features was enough to tip her scales of restraint.

"That sounds lovely," exclaimed Rachel, her laughter finally tailing off. "Maybe you could come and model the necklaces on Christmas day for my dads and I. I'm sure there will be enough baked goods to keep Santana well placated."

Brittany eagerly nodded. "Yes! I can give you your gift then! It's a—"

"How about we keep it a secret and surprise each other then?" offered Rachel, suitably charmed by her friend's childlike exuberance.

Brittany seemed to take her suggestion in to consideration for only a moment before she sighed, "Okay. I just always know what I get before I open it so I want everybody to know too."

Rachel smiled. "I fear us mere mortals are not as stellar detectives as you appear to be and have learned to enjoy the art of surprise."

Brittany seemed oddly starry eyed at her comment and Rachel didn't understand until, "I'm not a mermaid. I already tried to grow a tail in my pool but I just got really wet. Maybe I have to try in the ocean."

The leap of logic had Rachel reeling but for only a second. What was worse was that a young Rachel Berry had tried to accomplish the same feat as well—one day after viewing the Disney mermaid classic on one of her family's many movie nights—and her daddy was of course around to get the whole embarrassing ordeal on videotape.

"Well, we'll have to visit the ocean one day to figure out if such a thing has any merit. I'm sure Santana would be thrilled to join us."

Brittany shook her head. "No, she's afraid of sharks."

Rachel found herself once again battening down her verbal hatches—sealing her mouth with a just audible pop—to stop her giggles once again. It was proving difficult, her adnominal muscles were angrily protesting at the strain.

"Oh," was what Rachel was finally able to get out. "That's unfortunate."

"It's okay," Brittany shrugged, seemingly nonplused as she continued to explain, "San told me that you weren't as horrible as she thought when we talked about her parents yesterday so I think she'd let me go with you."

Rachel's jaw pretty much dropped, effectively ruining her anti-giggle seal, not that she needed it anymore because Santana Lopez had actually taken her advice. But then, the Latina had technically followed her into the trenches before—the song, blackmailing Quinn—and the realization had Rachel beaming a bright grin.

It was tangible proof of their friendship. Maybe Rachel didn't just have to settle for an unacknowledged familiar connection with the brunette because Santana certainly couldn't dispute cold hard facts.

"That's marvelous!" Rachel cried—her hands and arms waving in a flurry of exhilaration—but then she remembered the circumstances. "I apologize. I meant to ask how the conversation went. She's not planning on stealing away to get drunk again in the near future, is she?"

"No," Brittany sighed, more in relief than any actual distress thankfully. "She said she was going to talk to her parents and she was sad because she didn't want me to think she was leaving me again. I said that it was okay because I wouldn't think that."

Rachel nodded. "I'm glad to hear that such a crisis was averted so to speak."

Brittany bit her lip before abruptly launching herself into Rachel's arms at speeds that just allowed the tiny Diva to get her arms positioned for a hug.

Pulling back, the blonde smiled. "Thanks for talking to her for me. She told me what she said about Q and don't listen, okay? I know Q will choose you. She just doesn't know it yet."

Rachel found herself nodding, too flabbergasted for much else and when Brittany fully separated from her—because Charles had taken that moment to return—poor Rachel was left staring at them as they finished filling out order forms.

Because it just didn't seem plausible.

Santana had made so much sense—even while in a drunken haze—because when it came down to it, Rachel didn't know why anybody—much less Quinn Fabray—would choose her. Santana choosing Brittany was different because who wouldn't choose Brittany: she was wonderful.

But she was just Rachel Berry and it had become exponentially apparent that her voice was all she had to offer. And after Finn had freely sought her out for just that, Rachel knew it would never be enough.

Thankfully, Brittany took it upon herself to pull Rachel out of the store—almost identically to how she pulled her in—and the tug jostled her out of her thoughts.

She looked up at Brittany—as the girl skipped along next to her—and Rachel couldn't help but ask, "How do you know?"

Somewhat reminiscent, actually entirely the same, as her question to Santana and Brittany just stopped in the middle of the mall—seemingly once again oblivious to the dirty looks from the disgruntled mob following behind them—and smiled.

"Q likes teddy bears."

Rachel's mouth unattractively open and closed multiple times before she got enough of a handle to speak. "Brittany what—"

"She has a whole collection of them," Brittany was looking at her like she assumed that answered all of Rachel's questions and when the blonde realized that it didn't—Rachel's face was still undeniably bewildered—she frowned, "behind her crowns that San says Q got after she jeepers creepered a bus full of beauty queens."

"Oh that's…" Rachel was still undoubtedly confused but Brittany was already smiling and continuing to pull her along so the tiny Diva just decided to give up. "Brittany, do you happen to want to make a stop at _Build-a-Bear_?"

The blonde came to a dead stop again and her face morphed into what one would reason a maniacal expression looked like on a cheerful face.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she screeched and then there was a lot of jumping.

Lots and lots of jumping and Rachel was literally dragged through the mall after that.

She really hoped her shoulder wasn't dislocated.

* * *

Rachel found peace in humming along—as _Madonna_ explained exactly what comprised a material girl—because an upbeat song was always required during an impromptu gift-wrapping session. High energy was an essential part in keeping her wits about her through the complicated art of present decoration. One tired blink of the eye and her special blue snowflake paper could be matched with the wrong forest green bow—such a thing was just not acceptable.

Headphones in, Rachel was diligently perfecting the ribbon curl on her very last gift, when she spotted her auntie's shaggy bear claw slippers just step into her eye line. Looking up from her spot perched on the floor—a cop circle of brightly coloured gift-wrap surrounding her—Rachel quickly pulled on the wire of her ear buds until they tumbled to her lap.

"Auntie!" she exclaimed, as the woman shuffled further into the room. "I thought you'd be asleep, trying to forget the trouncing I gave you in _Go Fish_ tonight."

Rachel watched the older woman perch herself on the side of her bed and absently bounced up to settle in beside her.

"I was dear," her auntie laughed, her curls bouncing freely with every amused shake of her head, "but then I felt the need to come see you."

Rachel's brow cutely furrowed. "But why? If you're after a rematch I…" hushed angry whispering suddenly started permeating through her walls and the tiny brunette sighed, "oh."

Her auntie was quick to pull her into a hug the moment Rachel's tiny shoulders seemed to deflate. "How long has this been going on, sweetie? My brother seemed to have left this part out of our daily phone conversations."

"A few months," mumbled Rachel, reveling in the warmth surrounding her by burrowing further into the familiar embrace. "Since Daddy started his new job. Dad doesn't like it very much."

The woman sighed, squeezing Rachel gently, as she started slowly rocking them back and forth. "Why is that, baby?"

The tiny Diva pulled away from the embrace, suddenly feeling guilty for betraying her fathers. "I don't know."

Rachel's back hunched as she stared at her clasped hands resting in her lap and she heard her auntie sigh. "Rachie, I think you should talk about it. I feel like you haven't had the chance to express yourself and we all know how much you need that."

"They…" Rachel bit her lip, deliberating until she just shook her head and looked up into her auntie's kind eyes. "They think I don't know but I do. I hear them and I feel so exceedingly helpless to do anything but watch them crumble because they are both so stubborn."

Her auntie nodded. "What else?"

Rachel took a breath, seemingly preparing herself as her auntie smiled to encourage her. "Daddy likes his job because he has more responsibility. He feels like he's helping more people but the longer hours have him away from home a lot more than he used to be. Dad doesn't want him to be away, something I undoubtedly understand because I don't want that either, but since becoming friends with Brittany…and to an extent Quinn, I've realized that sometimes when you care for somebody there are instances where that concern trumps your reluctance because it is in their best interest. You put their needs before your own… why can't Dad and Daddy do that too?"

Her auntie quickly pulled her into another hug, one that Rachel had no intentions of breaking free from this time around. "I don't know, Rachie but maybe you should tell them what you just told me."

"Do you think we can do it together?" Rachel asked softly and her auntie just pulled her closer.

Strong hands rhythmically ran through her hair and Rachel found herself blinking to keep her eyes open. "I thought you'd never ask, baby."

"Thanks, Auntie," Rachel said softly, somehow already feeling exponentially better.

* * *

Rachel was a verse away from basking in the sounds of applause—beneath the bright lights, the worn wood of the Broadway stage finally under the soles of her shoes—because her performance of _Don't Cry For Me Argentina_ had (obviously) been flawless, when a distant ringing heinously shattered the moment.

It got louder and louder until Rachel was groaning and slapping her hand towards her nightstand with all the coordination her sleep-addled brain allowed. Something—her dream journal—fell to the floor with a distinct thump and then finally her fingertips grazed her bedazzled phone case.

Answering it required a more involved effort that Rachel celebrated with a gruff, "Hello, you've reached, Rachel Berry. If this is you Jacob, come on over. I'll be happy to blitz your anatomy's most virile part in my father's new _Cuisinart_ blender."

"Ber—" a distinctly feminine voice—too feminine to be another one of Jacob's rather abysmal attempts to disguise his voice—coughed in an attempt to clear their throat. "Rachel?"

Said girl froze and quickly flipped onto her back, eyes wide open and staring up into darkness. "Quinn, I wasn't expecting… are you all right? There isn't anything wrong with the baby, is there? I knew I should've insisted on a doctor's visit when you expressed illness—"

"Everything's fine, Rachel," Quinn interrupted, her tone clipped with underlying impatience.

Rachel sighed, a relieved smile gracing her face because honestly her vivid imagination liked to torture her, especially in the early hours of the morning before her daily breakfast smoothie. Though—let it be known—Rachel was dutifully prepared to coach Quinn through labor over the phone if the situation so required it.

"Oh, well, that's wonderful…" Rachel squirmed, sheets rustling as she waited for Quinn to fill the silence but the blonde didn't seem to be in any hurry, something that the tiny Diva felt obligated to rectify. "May I inquire as to why you're calling at…" she quickly glanced at the clock, "three in the morning?"

The blonde mumbled something entirely too low to hear and poor Rachel pressed the phone harder to her ear in hopes of picking up just about anything. "I…do you think…"

Quinn seemed almost shy—or at least embarrassed—but over the phone Rachel couldn't be too sure. The girl's soft, shallow breathing through the speaker—as the blonde appeared to be in the midst of collecting her thoughts—was especially torturous. Rachel carefully pushed her covers down to her stomach, the cool air against her flushed skin felt amazingly good. The pleasing feeling had her stretching with a barely discernible moan, back arching until she fell back on her bed.

Quinn's breathing audibly picked up and Rachel bit her lip, suddenly feeling guilty. "Do I think what, Quinn?"

"Do you think you can pick me up, like now?" the blonde finally asked, the sounds of a worn mattress creaking under the blonde's weight seemed deafening over the phone while Quinn waited on her answer.

Still, Rachel wasn't quite sure what the girl was asking. "Quinn, I'm not sure I—"

"Puck's Jewish," interrupted Quinn and the tiny brunette frowned.

"I'm well aware of that…" she said slowly because obviously it wasn't just her, the blonde wouldn't be making any sense to anybody, right? "I apologize, Quinn but you're going to have to be more specific. What does that—"

Quinn sighed—a clear sign that she was once again annoyed—and Rachel silently berated herself for being the cause until the pregnant girl mumbled, "The baby likes bacon, okay?"

Rachel tried her best to stifle her urge to giggle, the situation was undoubtedly amusing and Quinn's petulance was extremely appealing to the obviously smitten Diva.

Her heart beat a little faster and she pushed her blanket down a little further. There was no question in Rachel's mind now: she was in love with Quinn Fabray. The personality disconnect that previously had Rachel wadding in uncertain waters—tempestuous head cheerio and charming _MySpace_ commenter—had finally managed to mend in the middle.

"Twenty minutes should give us both ample time to prepare, yes?" Rachel was already up wandering around in the dark in search of somewhat presentable clothes. "Will that suffice?"

A beat and then a shyly mumbled ' _yes'_ just managed to reach her ears.

Rachel smiled.

She imagined Lithgow was shaking his head at her lovesick grin but she didn't give him any mind, as she quickly pulled a sweater over her head. Rachel was out the door moments later, after a brief struggle with the laces of her shoes.

Quinn was waiting out front of Puck's house bundled up in a puffy black jacket; her cheeks just tinged pink. From embarrassment or being cold, Rachel wasn't too sure, but she turned up the heat just in case.

They drove in silence. Just a (Rachel Berry) crafted soundtrack of only the best Celine Dion Christmas hits lowly crooned away in the background, as her lovely Francophone idol's arrangement of _Feliz Navidad_ had Rachel's stomach churning at the very thought of it.

Rachel tapped along absently on the steering wheel and Quinn fiddled with the ends of her jacket until the blonde's head sporadically snapped towards her.

"You didn't have to…" the blonde trailed off, seemingly thinking better of what she was saying half way through and quickly trying again, "I just couldn't get Puck up and—"

"Thanks isn't necessary, Quinn," Rachel briefly chanced a glance the girl's way before her eyes skittered back to the road, "and neither is an explanation. I'm happy you thought of me when looking for somebody to call."

Her peripherals caught Quinn glancing away—almost in a sheepish manner—and the tiny brunette's heart skipped a beat. By God, Quinn was too cute for words and the thought had Rachel smiling.

"Rachel, stop there," Quinn's voice was almost frantic, like the thought of the fast food chain passing them by would see the world come to an end.

She couldn't help but giggle, something Quinn petulantly rolled her eyes at while grumpily mumbling hollow threats underneath her breath. The blonde only seemed to be placated when an employee at _Sonic_ was asking them for their order through a brightly painted speaker box.

Quinn proceeded to hold out a list, well more specifically a _Sonic_ menu with certain items readily circled in glittery green gel pen. Rachel looked at Quinn, lip firmly between her teeth, as her whole body shook to keep her boisterous laughs in.

"You can't be…"

The answering glare was enough for Rachel to quickly turn to the speaker and reel off the items on Quinn's—rather large—list. She ordered herself a limeade and hoped it would tide her over until Quinn was finished her bounty full of sizzling flesh.

They sat in the car—idle in the eerily empty parking lot—and Rachel cracked a window because the blonde's rather ravenous moans very quickly flushed her cheeks. The putrid smell of well over five pounds of meat and the once again horrifying display of Quinn in the heat of rabid ingestion was enough to have Rachel roll the window down just a smidge more.

She sipped from her limeade and interchangeably hummed along with Celine until finally Quinn was happily sighing from beside her, slowly rubbing her stomach with a satisfied smirk. Rachel chanced a look up at her favourite pair of eyes, smiling softly at the almost contented tinge to their hazel hue. The blonde looked away, bashfully glancing down at the empty paper bag in her hands.

"Thanks, Rachel," she whispered.

Said girl opened her mouth to comment but it just as quickly fell shut. Rachel. Quinn had called her Rachel. It was then that the tiny brunette realized—their earlier phone conversation flittering through her mind's eye—that the blonde been calling her by name all along.

Rachel's hands started to fiddle in her lap and she slowly looked up with a blinding grin. "You've been calling me, Rachel."

"I…" Quinn sighed, ripping at the paper bag with a face pinched in frustration, "it seemed only fair."

The tiny Diva frowned briefly at the softly spoken words—because she couldn't help but desperately want more than that—but she managed to quickly rearrange her face into something more presentable in little to no time at all.

"Oh, okay. I suppose that is as good a reason as any, since—"

"No, it's not!" cried Quinn, shreds of paper flying across the blonde's lap as she threw up her hands. "I should be apologizing to you. You've done so much for me, you deserve more than that. Why don't you think that?"

Rachel sighed, her limeade quickly finding its way to the nearest cup holder. "Quinn, I don't want to force you into giving more than you're ready to offer. I suppose I believe that it will come when you're—"

"But I am! I want to…" Quinn trailed off, breathing heavily beside her, as she sullenly looked out the window.

Her profile was one of somebody that appeared utterly defeated and Rachel's heart turned cold in her chest. She couldn't just sit by and she was reaching for Quinn's hand before her brain even processed it. The paper bag was soon pried away—and tossed heedlessly into the back seat—and Rachel was helplessly gripping the blonde's hand.

"What do you want, Quinn?" she whispered, searching for any sign Quinn was willing to give.

And hazel eyes were quickly upon hers, swirling with an almost palpable darkness that Rachel struggled desperately to understand. Their eyes seemed only inches away from one another—though intellectually Rachel knew it was a lot more than that—both stuck staring and neither wanting to look away.

But then Quinn visibly softened. Rachel didn't dare move as the blonde inched closer, her hand slowly making its way to Rachel's cheek. The tiny brunette's eyes involuntarily shut, allowing Quinn's fingertips cart blanche to ghost over the soft skin of her face.

Rachel's heart was pounding, all the blood was rushing to her head and Quinn was being so gentle, even when the blonde's thumbs brushed against the bridge of her nose. Rachel's mouth unconsciously opened—her breathing pretty much being relegated to sporadic and unattractive gushes of air—because my Barbra this was heavenly.

And then Quinn was touching her lips, the pads of her fingers were so soft and Rachel's eyes fluttered open just in time to take in the almost reverent twinkle in hazel eyes. Unfortunately, the movement saw Quinn's hand fall to her side and the blonde glanced up, their eyes connecting once again.

Then just as suddenly Quinn's lips were tentatively touching Rachel's and the tiny brunette wasn't sure what to do when all she could hear was Quinn's voice whispering, "I…I want to kiss you."


	26. Chapter 26

Fireworks.

Like the colours of the rainbow—no pun intended—exploding behind her very eyes. Admittedly, Rachel didn't have much experience in kissing—just her first kiss at theatre camp and Finn Hudson—but that didn't make this any less wonderful.

Soft lips were sliding frantically against her own and Rachel was suddenly so sorry for thinking this was all going to end when she'd been too shocked to kiss the blonde back. Things like this just didn't happen for her—not really, not without some type of ulterior motive—and Rachel had (quite frankly) learned that the hard way. And hearing such a thing from Quinn too, Rachel just couldn't bear the thought of it so she kissed her back until Quinn pulled away, panting against her lips.

Pale hands tangled themselves in brunette locks and hazel eyes fluttered open just to stare. Her gaze swept across Rachel's face with the ease of an anxious caress, turning darker and darker as the seconds ticked by; their brilliant green tinge slowly dulling down to a muted rusty gold until finally the blonde pulled away all together.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Quinn whispered, now fully leaning against the passenger side door, as far away as she could possibly be. "I thought…I want you to say something now."

Rachel opened her mouth, proceeding to open and close it rather uselessly in an attempt to encourage some semblance of sound to come out. Because she wanted to—by God Rachel had so much she wanted to say—but kissing Quinn had quite possibly changed everything.

It made it all too obvious how far she'd fallen.

Rachel had thought those rose coloured glasses had been shattered by Finn—just useless broken glass underneath her feet—but there she was staring at Quinn and Rachel was willing to do it all again, had been doing it, just seconds ago.

But she couldn't, not anymore.

She just needed to know and then maybe when Quinn inevitably changed her mind it wouldn't hurt so much like it had with Finn.

And just like that, the tiny Diva had miraculously found her voice. "I apologize, admittedly such a situation as this doesn't occur for me in the everyday. I'd very much like to continue kissing you but I find myself needing to know what this is."

Quinn unfortunately didn't move away from the door—her back was still pressed against it like she was ready to run at any moment if Rachel even made a move to get closer—but the brunette was pleased to note that the anxious air around the blonde had been effectively snuffed.

Instead, Quinn looked incited enough to kill—her—which was something that didn't actually seem at all promising now that she thought about it. The blonde did have a tendency to look somewhat manic at the best of times, something Rachel had heard Finn refer to as 'scary Quinn' while he ran away from the girl in the halls at school.

"What this is?" Quinn murmured lowly, though Rachel was almost positive she'd heard a distinctive growl at the end. "I kissed you, Berry! How the hell can you ask me that?"

The pale hands that were once in her hair were now fist-shaped balls in Quinn's lap. Rachel bit her lip, trying to quell her first instinct of backing down because she hadn't meant to upset the girl. Through, she supposed it came with the territory and the fact that Quinn apparently was under the impression that a kiss would suffice in a situation such as this.

"Well," Rachel employed a few quick breathing techniques to calm her own temper down as it started to fester at the very thought of Quinn's presumption, "I simply feel like it is in my right to know why you kissed me, especially when you were actively screening my calls a week ago. Is that so much to ask?"

Quinn looked away—out the window—and her shoulders deflated with a long exhale of air. "Brittany made this sound so much easier."

The mumbled words had Rachel tilting her head just noticeably to the side. "I suppose that's what she said to get you to come over that day?"

Quinn nodded and shyly turned to look up into Rachel's eyes. "She accidently told me that you'd figured out it was me on _MySpace_ because she thought I already knew because Lord Tubbington posted it on his _Twitter_ page. She told me that…"

The blush dusting Quinn's cheeks had Rachel captivated instantly, though admittedly Quinn Fabray didn't have to do much at all to have her heart beating wildly in her chest.

"Told you what?" whispered Rachel, as she slowly reached over to grasp Quinn's hand in her own.

The blonde looked down at their hands and Rachel tried to pull away—undoubtedly thinking she'd made the girl uncomfortable—until Quinn squeezed her hand just enough to get her to stop moving.

Then she looked up. "She told me I could have you if I wanted to. That all I had to do was kiss you like she kissed Santana."

Rachel's eyes noticeably narrowed. "Like she kissed Santana? That doesn't even explain half of what I went through to get those two to that point! Santana is completely deranged. I feared for my life daily and fended off threats of being vengefully accosted and forcefully shoved into a popcorn box just to teach her the lyrics to one verse of an indubitably catchy Kelly Clark—"

Fireworks.

And this time Rachel didn't hesitate to kiss back, something that had Quinn desperately trying to climb into her lap. Rachel reluctantly broke the kiss and pushed the blonde gently back into her seat.

Quinn was blushing cutely, yet again charming poor Rachel's heart into complete submission. The tiny Diva honestly hadn't stood a chance.

"Sorry," the blonde mumbled, lip caught between her front teeth as her eyes dropped to her lap and then shot back up. "How did you know it was me? I was careful and made sure I never said anything to reveal my identity to anyone, especially you."

Rachel sighed because quite honestly this answer was quite the convoluted one. Still, they were talking—really talking—without the anonymity of a username and a computer screen. She wasn't socially inept enough to sabotage that, even in her darkest (most callow) hour.

She needed to at least try to offer something.

"I had no knowledge it was you until Brittany told me that she recognized your username, not that I hadn't consciously imagined it was you anyway." Quinn seemed unhealthily focused on their joined hands and Rachel wondered if she said something wrong. Still she hurried to finish her thought. "At first I didn't believe her because, well I suppose the thought was too good to be true. Just like right now, I'm just having a hard time understanding how somebody as wonderful as you could be making almost all my dreams come true, since I haven't yet reached my inevitable destiny of superstardom."

Quinn's head snapped up and Rachel's eyes widened when she saw the tears.

She felt the blonde pulling her hand away and Rachel was inwardly berating herself for her total uselessness in regards to relating to the human race (in its entirety) when Quinn spoke, "This is why I… you're amazing Rachel and I don't deserve this. I'm a horrible person. All I do is hurt people and—"

"No, you don't, Quinn." Rachel reached over and desperately grabbed for Quinn's hands. "You made a mistake and if people can't see it in their hearts to forgive you that isn't your fault. You're not horrible and quite honestly, as I've previously just said, I think you're wonderful. More than if I'm being perfectly—"

Rachel was beginning to quite like being interrupted with a healthy dose of Quinn's inspired fireworks, except there was one thing that…

Rachel reluctantly pulled away.

"Quinn I think that—" Apparently, the blonde didn't agree much to Rachel's chagrin, "Quinn, please just—" This time the tiny Diva attempted to be more proactive and was actively holding Quinn away by the shoulders. "Quinn, I can't let this continue, not with the cows that will be plaguing my dreams with their angry mooing for my betrayal of—"

"Berry, what are you talking about? I'm pregnant and moody and I want to kiss you right now so can you dial back the crazy just for a few more minutes?"

Quinn was petulantly glaring at her—within kissing distance—and dear Barbra Rachel almost gave in to the blonde's every whim until she swore a faint mooing could be heard in the distance. She quickly leaned over to the glove box—popping it open with only a moderate flourish—and quickly held out a pack of gum to Quinn.

"I will require two minutes of chewing, one minute per stick of gum before we can commence our extracurricular activities." Rachel paused, watching as Quinn looked at the packet of gum incredulously before she added, "The cows really do insist."

Quinn angrily snatched the package mumbling a quick— _stupid Berry_ —under her breath as she began to chew.

They were back to kissing in (exactly) two minutes—because Quinn had been very adamant Rachel keep time—and when the blonde again tried to climb into her lap, Rachel was quick to helpfully push the front seat back, as a peace offering of sorts, of course.

* * *

Rachel's eyes suddenly snapped open, her sleep-aided brain disoriented as it searched the dark for some sign of where she was until she remembered. Smiling, she glanced beside her where—even in the dark—Quinn was undoubtedly curled up, snoring softly. They'd fallen asleep—side-by-side—holding hands, something so undeniably chaste after the carnal desires that had densely fogged the windows of her car early this morning.

The blonde hadn't wanted to go back to Noah's, so Rachel had softly offered an invitation to stay with her. Those nerve-racking few seconds when Quinn had just silently stared at her flew through her mind's eye until the unmistakable sound of the doorbell interrupted long enough to break the memory.

Maybe that was why she'd woken up.

It was still relatively early and while Rachel would admittedly be two hours into the new day at any other time, staying up almost all of the night with Quinn had her more inclined to be asleep at eight in the morning.

Her fathers would be at work by now though and her auntie was a very deep sleeper—aided by an impressive set of custom made ear plugs—until ten, so their surprise guest was unfortunately left to her.

Sighing, Rachel detangled her hand from Quinn's—who cutely scrunched up her face in response—and quickly made it to the front door. If it was those poorly informed—vegan ignorant—chocolate sellers again, Rachel vowed to end them.

Except, when she finally opened the door, Rachel was quick to eat her words and desperately wish for them back.

Anything but… Finn.

Because she didn't want to do this, especially not now as she watched him teeter dangerously on her front porch. Rachel wondered briefly if these blatant balance issues were the root cause for his dreadful dancing but quickly shook the thought away in the face of her seemingly surging annoyance.

"I told you I didn't want to see you, Finn," she sighed and his eyes quickly turned on their wounded puppy dog charm. "I thought you could respect that at least."

He thankfully stopped teetering, as he anxiously stepped closer to her, something Rachel quickly thwarted by stepping outside and shutting the door.

Surprised by her move, Finn stepped back instinctively, something Rachel inwardly celebrated until he started talking. "I'm sorry, Rach. I tried to but I just miss you and I kept thinking about our kiss and I know it is something worth fighting for, so I'm going to—"

"No, you're not going to be fighting for anything involving you and I," she exclaimed, angrily striking his chest with a very pointed finger. "Does it not bother you at all that this relationship you've convinced yourself you want is built on mistrust and deceit?"

"You're wrong. That kiss wasn't a lie. I know you felt something just like me. Why are you punishing me?" His attempts at persuasion quickly turned into a whiny plea and Rachel just bit back a sigh as her hand dropped to her side. "We can be together just like—"

"I can't trust you, Finn. I can't just forget all the times you broke my heart just because you want me now. I…" Rachel trailed off, looking down at his chest, as Finn visibly shook in an effort to not wince at her recent heated pokes. "Before this would've been enough, it wouldn't have mattered that we'd be doomed to repeat this whole apologetic scene in a months time because I'd have you and I convinced myself that was enough—"

"It is, Rach," he cut in and his earnest face made her heart skip a beat. He was still so handsome, the leading man she used to dream about. "Girlfriends and boyfriends are all about fighting and making up. I might not be perfect like you think this other guy is or whatever but I know I love you more. I just know it."

Rachel looked into his eyes and it was so easy to remember why he was so important to her. When she'd been packing that seduction picnic—humming along to _Don't Stop Believin',_ something she'd foolishly dubbed as their song—all those moments where he'd stare at her and make her feel like she was wanted had flittered through her head.

His eyes would get just a shade lighter and just a smidge rounder as if they were rediscovering her all over again. He'd give her that half grin and Rachel would feel like she was the prettiest girl in the entire world.

Only now, it just served in making her despondent because when she'd slapped him in that hallway Rachel had lost that connection as well. Finn Hudson was supposed to be her everything and now he was just a lowly conciliation prize.

And that was when she realized that their friendship was tainted too deeply to save because he was still looking at her the same way, as the girl that wanted sex just as much as boys do. Rachel suspected it was because she didn't want him back—as it was the only suitable explanation for this moment—the more she pushed him away, the more he pushed back.

But then, what he'd said might've certainly been true.

Rachel sighed. "I don't doubt you think you love me, Finn and at the present time it could be much more than this person I've chosen to pursue but that doesn't change the fact that we just aren't compatible. I've moved on and I suggest you do as well. I'll be frank and just say that there is nothing for you here. I hope this serves in allowing you to finally understand that your affections are not wanted and I ask that you please try and direct them somewhere where they are welcome."

He almost violently shook his head, stepping closer with an almost desperate shake in his step. "But Rach—"

"No, Finn," she interrupted and her eyes visibly hardened because he'd finally pushed a little too far. "I'm finished with this back and forth. Quite honestly, you screwed up. You lied to me numerous times for your own personal gain with little regard for the consequences and I can't get past it. Nothing is going to change my mind and I will again express how much I don't want to hear from you. If I ever do, I'll know where to find you, so now I will kindly ask you to leave my front porch."

The boy looked visibly distraught and Rachel felt exceedingly guilty. She'd always care about him—in a sense he'd been her first love—it was just unfortunately not enough.

"Fine, whatever but you'll regret it Rach," he mumbled and dragged himself lethargically into his mother's car.

Rachel watched him drive away—with a few previously unshed tears finally glistening her cheeks—as she whispered, "Goodbye, Finn."

* * *

Quinn seemed hopelessly baffled as Rachel talked her through the preparation of Mrs. Pierce's vegan Macaroni and Cheese. More specifically, it seemed to be the lack of cheese and real butter—the main ingredients in a three-ingredient dish that Rachel already knew Quinn enjoyed rather ravenously. The tiny brunette watched the frowning blonde listlessly poke at the leftover block of soy cheese with the end of a knife and rolled her eyes.

"Quinn, you can't be serious," she sighed and said blonde proceeded to again accost the—now positively marred—soy cheese block with a particularly violent stab. "Please just try it. I assure you it's quite delicious."

The girl shook her head but she did thankfully relinquish her weapon to its rightful place on the counter. "But it looks like milky _Jell-O_."

Dear sweet Barbra, Rachel even found this—admittedly infuriating—Quinn delightful.

"But it doesn't taste that way," Rachel melodically trilled, a sound that had the sulky blonde smiling softly, as the brunette proceeded to wave a piece of cheese (not at all) enticingly in between them.

Still, Quinn didn't move to eat the offered soy cheese, much to Rachel's chagrin. She did capture her hand though, so they were joined in the middle of the island, one girl on each side.

"I want to… I want you to know how sorry I am for…" Rachel was about to jump in to assure Quinn this wasn't necessary but the almost frustrated look on Quinn's face stopped her cold, "for everything I did to you. I know I can never make up for it but I'm trying to… everyday."

The blonde seemed to be searching her face for something. Validation seemed to be the likely guess—because Rachel herself would be after that very thing right now—but for some reason, the tiny Diva was leaning more towards something else.

Quinn wanted to know that Rachel believed her, something Rachel rushed to confirm so there was no mistake. "I do, Quinn. I have faith in you and that will never stop, I promise."

The blonde was quickly stealing another kiss, a slow meeting of their lips over the island, hands joined on the cutting board between them. Quinn then pulled back, her teeth unconsciously biting the lip Rachel had just thoroughly caressed with her own.

"I can't be…" Quinn started before that look of frustration freely returned, pulling at the heartstrings of Rachel's heart mercilessly, "I can't be this in front of others, not yet. I know you want that but I can hardly handle who I am right now and I…"

The blonde looked so helpless and Rachel gently squeezed her hands before softly running her fingertips over Quinn's knuckles to try to stop their shaking. The girl was so desperately trying for her, sharing inner thoughts and feelings when Quinn's first instinct was undoubtedly to bottle them up.

Quite frankly, Rachel was just amazed that this wonderful girl was doing all this just for her.

It made her feel… like she was wanted.

And undoubtedly that realization had Rachel crying because she'd honestly thought she'd lost that feeling forever when she'd given up on Finn.

"Thank you," Rachel whispered and Quinn's wide, panicky eyes slowly started to calm into a steady mix of confusion.

But Rachel didn't bother to explain, she rounded the island in three rather frantic steps and Quinn's lips were once again hers in a frenzied haze of lips—and when she'd bit at Quinn's bottom lip—for the first time tongue.

Moans filled the kitchen for an undeterminable amount of time until an amused clearing of the throat was mixed in as off-beat background percussion. Rachel reluctantly pulled away and her auntie gave her a very exaggerated wink while Quinn's face quickly morphed into a horrified look, obviously both too scared and embarrassed to turn around.

Rachel unsurprisingly didn't have such a problem. "Yes, Auntie? Did you come for the Macaroni and Cheese because if so I regret to inform you that it has another ten minutes until it is ready to serve."

Her auntie chuckled with a fond shake of her head. "Rachie, why don't you introduce me to our guest. I assume she'll be staying for dinner, yes? Your fathers won't be arriving home until later tonight so a third person to fill the table is always a welcomed gift."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course. This is Quinn, Auntie and Quinn…" said girl had still not managed to turn around, so Rachel gently assisted the frozen girl in turning to face their audience, "Quinn this is my Auntie Robin."

"Hi," Quinn mumbled, managing a tiny wave that had both Berry's stifling laughter.

Though Rachel knew her auntie was already completely enamored with the blonde—the older woman's blinding smile was suitably the biggest give away—she was still curious as to the woman's motives for interrupting them when her auntie had avoided that very thing all day.

"How lovely to meet you, Quinn," thank Barbra, her auntie had managed to quell her love for the baby gays, "I hope you'll be joining us for Christmas as well. We could especially use your Belinda Carlisle glamour to distract from my brother's drunken carol singing near the mistletoe."

Rachel found herself freely nodding. "That's so very true."

"I'll think about it," Quinn said softly and her auntie seemed satisfied with the answer because she was quickly backing out of the kitchen.

"That's fine, dear," the woman smiled and finally turning to leave as she added, "I'll be back in five."

Rachel shook her head, small smile adorning her face before she found herself looking at Quinn. "I agree with her you know and not just because of my father's exceedingly low tolerance for egg nog. These past weeks of doing Christmas themed activities with you was quite enjoyable and I hope we can be together for Christmas as well."

Quinn seemed to contemplate it for only a moment before she was shyly nodding. "I'd like to spend Christmas with you too."

Rachel squealed and excitedly attacked the blonde with fury of hugs and kisses.


	27. Chapter 27

Rachel found herself wondering about the merits of a first date, or more specifically if Quinn would be interested in partaking in one with her. Such a thing seemed logical, she supposed. The courting process in its entirety was essentially crafted for individuals who had successfully managed to reach a similar discourse as she and Quinn had in this past week.

But then, her experience with such matters was rather limited.

Rachel's entire dating history could be condensed down to one trip to the Lima Bowl with Finn Hudson and that wasn't technically a real date at all. It was suffice to say that the aforementioned evening wasn't even close to being enough preparation to trust herself to come to a proper decision.

Rachel just couldn't bare it if she scared Quinn away.

Not after all this time, all the effort—the sheer willpower—it took to quell her tendency for wanting too much.

It was quite honestly almost tragic in some regards. She'd spent so long dangling this very moment in front of herself—as heartened reinforcement of course—where she'd finally be able to release all her wanting from the grips of (her admittedly tattered) self-restraints, but, Quinn wasn't ready for that yet. Having to watch the blonde struggle to find words in her kitchen was proof of that.

Of course, such a thing didn't mean she should cancel her plans for a date… well possibly.

Rachel sighed.

Her usually incisive mediation process was spinning in circles and driving her towards a headache. She pulled Lithgow closer to her chest and shut her eyes.

Her breathing was just evening out when her bedroom door slammed open. She shot up off the bed and almost simultaneously fell to the floor. Rachel took a moment to whine (pitifully)—as her back was now throbbing—before pushing herself up to her feet so she was standing in just a rumpled pink tank top and grey yoga pants.

Her visitor was standing before the tiny Diva, Santana's usual infuriating smirk taunting as ever on her face. "Hey there, Berry. Is it casual Friday up at the North Pole?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Santana, I suppose a simple phone call or knock on my door was out of the question?"

The Latina proceeded to ignore her, instead flouncing into the room and finally flopping onto the chair by Rachel's desk. She spun around once before planting her feet firmly on the floor and looking up.

"Berry, you're lucky I'm sober so stop with the looks or I'll stab your eyes out with your precious glitter pen." Santana happened to pick up said pen—that Rachel had freely left in harms way because she wasn't expecting Santana's visit—and waved it around. "This thing is so fuckin' tacky and deserves to be melted down in a microwave by the way."

Santana then proceeded to toss it in Rachel's direction, something that saw Rachel (regretfully) screech and jump out of the way instead of breaking her beloved pen's fall and its simultaneous roll underneath her bed. The tiny Diva huffed at Santana's cackling laughter and flung herself on the bed with her arms crossed.

"What do you want, Santana?" Rachel finally asked and the Latina's face slowly grew somber as the question was left to fester between them.

Santana looked away, staring almost angrily at the poor orphan Annie posted on Rachel's bedroom wall before she said, "I talked to my parents. They don't want me back."

"Oh I…" Rachel bit her lip, not exactly sure on what to say because this was her fault. She'd encouraged Santana to go to them. "I'm sorry."

Dark eyes darted to hers, capturing them in an epic stare off that felt like it would continue to the death. Rachel was determined not to blink, just in case.

"They want me home for Christmas," Santana offered with a tone that stopped the blinding smile on Rachel's face in its tracks.

"I don't understand, why are you not happier about this clear sign of progress?" Really, a holiday invitation wasn't as dire as Santana had made it seem moments ago. "It seems to me that they're at least willing to—"

"Yeah, right, progress." Santana's laughter had goose bumps instantly chilling Rachel's spine. "You just don't understand, Berry. At least when I was drunk, I thought you would."

Rachel quickly shook her head, throwing her arms in the air—clearly exasperated—because honestly, what did Santana want from her? Her sixth sense didn't yet afford her the ability to read minds. At the very least, she was in need of some type of hint.

"Explain it to me then, Santana," cried Rachel and the answering glare made it a little easier to see through the startling wall of anger the Latina had built for herself. What was left, it was a look that reminded her so much of Quinn that it had Rachel's heart melting. "Santana, I apologize but I don't know how you expect me to understand with what you've shared so far. Why would an invitation for the holidays be so horrible? If it goes awry you'll always have a place to—"

"Because I have to go, okay!" yelled Santana and she was suddenly up and pacing across Rachel's room.

Her eyes looked desperate—as she'd glance Rachel's way every third step—and the tiny Diva wanted so badly to help. Maybe Santana really was right, maybe she was destined to never understand this situation the Latina found herself in.

But then, Rachel wasn't willing to accept that, not when… not when Quinn was homeless too.

She quickly straightened up, her eyes carefully tracking the other girl's every move. "Santana, I don't know—"

"You're completely hopeless." The same soulless laughter followed as before and Rachel gritted her teeth, holding back an answering retort as Santana turned to face her. "What do you think is going to happen if I don't, huh? In five months Q will be back and any hope I have of getting out of this shit town is over. I need to leave. I need to, okay Berry?"

Rachel was honestly still at a loss—even though she was desperate not to be—and Santana had just scoffed and proceeded to stalk around her room once again when suddenly revelation struck.

"You…" she blurted out and honestly Rachel felt somewhat nervous when the Latina was looking at her again, expectant for the proper answer. Still, she needed to guess something before pacing wasn't enough to quell Santana's frustration. "You require their money for college, so you can be with Brittany…"

The beginnings of tears in Santana's eyes—that the girl quickly turned to swipe away—was enough for Rachel's inner victory dance to commence until she realized how inappropriate it was to be milking the cow (even cognitively) at a time such as this.

"She's amazing when she dances," mumbled Santana, albeit somewhat breathlessly.

Rachel silently agreed. The blonde was breathtakingly beautiful even while dancing her way through an (emotionless) Sue Sylvester stamped dance routine. Still that didn't explain everything Santana had disjointedly offered up as an explanation thus far but luckily she had another guess.

"Coach Sylvester is also notorious for only backing one Cheerio for a post secondary scholarship," Rachel knew she was right when she had Santana instantly looking at her again, "because I fear she finds entertainment in the chaos of a horde of teenaged girls vying for her approval but everybody knows that Quinn is her favourite."

Santana threw her hands up in the air, seemingly annoyed, which only served to irritate Rachel, who had honestly just fashioned together a miracle with just the assistance of deductive reasoning alone.

"Well fuck, Berry," barked Santana and she managed to appear wholly serious while saying it as well. "That's what I've been saying."

Rachel bit her lip and barely managed to growl out, "Yes, how could I have been mistaken?"

"Jesus," Santana actually paused to roll her eyes and honestly if Rachel wasn't so against the use of violence, she would've hit her already. "I was just kidding. I know… thanks for this or whatever."

Rachel sighed.

Talks with Quinn were much more pleasant—mostly because she loved Quinn and the blonde liked to kiss her when she properly deciphered the right message—but Rachel reluctantly accepted this half-full expression of gratitude from Santana as a sizeable enough reward for her trouble.

"I suppose you're welcome, Santana and I'd advise you to maybe talk to Brittany about this before making any rash decisions, as it seems like your parents' ultimatum still stands if this situation is causing you this much grief."

Santana seemed to be ignoring her in favour of spinning in the chair, though Rachel was sure the girl was listening. She was beginning to realize that this was how these conversations worked and she supposed when it came to Santana, she would never see an acknowledgement of her advice until she heard from Brittany that Santana had taken it.

Rachel wondered if the same quid pro quo applied for her as well. She still hadn't told Brittany or Santana about her progress with Quinn. Rachel supposed that after months of both of them keeping quiet about Quinn's _MySpace_ fan-ship that maybe she'd be able to trust them with this as well.

No, she could.

Rachel was sure she could.

"Santana?" she said softly while said girl continued to spin but just the tiniest bit slower. "I suppose I was wondering… where did you take Brittany on your first date?"

The Latina came to a dead stop, almost lurching from the chair at the sudden end to her spinning while Rachel inwardly rejoiced that the girl really was listening after all. Santana stared at her for all but a second and then she started to cackle again.

"Q finally let you juice her, huh?" Santana reached out to hold onto the desk because she almost did fall as she continued to laugh. "I guess she's getting that Santa dildo for Christmas after all. I gots to get that shit on tape!"

Rachel sighed. "I told Brittany to get her a scarf but—"

"Whatever, Berry, don't care," Santana waved her off through deep breaths to recover from her laughing fit. "Just watch your back, okay? You're kinda important to Brits and if she's over here comforting your midget ass after Q breaks your heart, it will seriously cut into my sweet lady kisses."

Rachel's eyes narrowed, as she watched Santana pull herself back upright in the chair. She honestly seemed serious about her warning and Rachel just didn't understand why she had so little faith in Quinn—in both of them really.

"Why do you think this is going to end so badly?" Santana seemed surprised by the question, or mostly likely the angry tone, since Rachel supposed she had questioned Santana about this before. "Since the very beginning all you've continued to do is be negative about my relationship with Quinn and I want to know why."

Santana shrugged. "Does it really matter, Berry? She's going to crush you with her Shamu sized—"

"Stop," Rachel yelled and to her credit Santana actually did. "I believe it is only fair after everything I've done for you and your relationship with Brittany. For nothing at all, I might add, except a promise that you've already broke once in the months time that—"

"Fine, stop the drivel. You want to know?" Rachel only nodded in the face of Santana's irritable tone, something that only spurred the Latina on. "When I heard about the bun in her oven I went to see her because how anybody thought Hudson could keep it corked long enough to be Daddy Chastity I have no idea."

Rachel eyes widened. "You knew it was Noah's baby all along?"

"Of course I did and I wanted to help… she was my best friend," Santana rolled her eyes but then was back to shooting lasers at poor Annie once again, "but, she picked that dumb jumbo-oaf over me instead."

Rachel looked away, the words swirling through her mind before she turned back into the brunt of Santana's angry stare. "I can see how such a thing might be hurtful to you, Santana, but maybe Finn was the best option for caring for the baby."

Santana shook her head. "You'd like that wouldn't you, Berry? Sorry but the sad truth is that Finn was her only chance at making nice with Daddy. Kind of ironic that the sad sack was the reason she got kicked to the curb, huh?"

The Latina was being intentionally snide; well at least in Rachel's mind, so she had no intentions of answering (either of) Santana's questions. More so, the tiny Diva felt herself start to spiral because her approval from Quinn's father would most certainly never come.

And whether Quinn's family accepted her back or not, the blonde's purgatory would only last five more months in the halls of McKinley High. The blonde could be back on top if she wanted to be, while Rachel would be stuck with the same sub-basement life. And Rachel knew Quinn, she knew she'd want to get it all back—ignorance was bliss where Quinn Fabray was concerned—and Rachel knew she wasn't enough to give up all that.

Finn Hudson already buckled under the pressure of just being her friend, it wouldn't be fair—or emotionally prudent—to expect anything more than that from someone else.

Still, she swallowed down the feelings as best she could and looked up at Santana with a barely conspicuous smile. "Are you thirsty?"

The Latina rolled her eyes but nodded.

* * *

Rachel's first inclination was surprise at Quinn's seemingly innate talent for solving Pat Sajak's mystifying puzzles without so much as one purchased vowel but then that mind numbingly dull _How It's Made_ marathon they'd watched last week permeated through from her subconscious.

As such a thing was quite impossible to forget for very long—especially when the blonde had flipped passed _The_ _Real Housewives of New Jersey_ (again) to find this enlightening program—but Rachel decided it was a fair burden to bear if it was for Quinn.

It wasn't completely pathetic. At the very least only moderately pitiful on the appropriate measurement scale, though she supposed that was still astoundingly close to the bottom anyway.

Rachel sighed.

Quinn turned to look at her with a victorious smile—like every sore winner that ever lived—because the blonde had managed to solve yet another puzzle before that nice lady from Georgia who read to the blind.

Goodness, Quinn was entirely too distracting with those eyes that liked to arrogantly preen just like their gorgeous owner. Rachel's sigh had a dreamy tinge to it this time around.

"You've been staring at me for the last fifteen minutes," muttered Quinn, a soft—almost embarrassed—timbre to her voice. "You look tired."

Quinn reached out with a shaky hand, hesitantly moving it closer until her thumb was gently caressing the skin just below one of Rachel's eyes.

The tiny Diva found herself inherently nodding in response until forcefully blinking to break through her Quinn induced trance, something that saw pale hands fall away.

"Yes, perhaps I am a bit worn-out but I'm finding you far more lovely than that colourful wheel of fortune anyway," Rachel relayed with an absent wave of her hand before smiling up at a blushing Quinn. "I'm curious to know how you became so proficient at such a game?"

The blonde bit her lip, shyly looking down at her hands that were once again unconsciously cradling her baby bump since _Wheel of Fortune_ had properly (unfortunately) graced the Berry television.

"I…um…" The garbled words lasted only a minute and then the eyes she loved so much were gazing back at her. "I used to watch it with my daddy every night."

And suddenly the moment was tainted with that same uncontainable (Santana inspired) doubt.

Losing Quinn was very much still in the forefront of her mind and though Rachel knew that she shouldn't burden herself with such a thought, it was proving to be particularly difficult.

Quinn's puzzle solving mastery had been successful in preoccupying the frenetic happenings of Rachel's mind momentarily—something she was the upmost thankful for after being plagued most of last night—but now that overwhelming feeling was roaring right back.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Quinn asked and the Diva's attention shifted quickly, only to meet an expectant (slightly concerned) pair of hazel eyes head on.

The brunette started to vigorously nod. "Yes, I'm quite alright, Quinn. As you've previously mentioned I'm just a bit tired. I believe I might've watched one too many musicals during my previous night's movie marathon."

Which was undoubtedly true, after she'd tossed and turned—over her thoughts of Quinn—for many hours prior to giving in to a sleepless night. Surely such a half-truth wasn't culpable enough to count as a lie?

"I know there's something wrong." Rachel just continued to stare—trying her best to act blissfully confused—until hazel eyes narrowed in clear frustration. "Berry, you've been quiet all day and usually you never shut up!"

A scandalized gasp filled the room, theatricality dictating it was Rachel, of course. Quinn's eyes looked slightly guilty for the comment but the tiny Diva was already offended. Arms crossed, looking angry (coupled with an excessive amount of over-exaggerated breathing) Rachel waited for an apology.

Only Quinn didn't seem too keen on giving one, something that earned another loud gasp—from Rachel—and a dark look: the telltale sign of an upcoming Rachel Berry rant.

"I resent the implication that deftly annunciating my opinion in a grammatically correct fashion is grounds for such a crass dismissal." Because such a thing was entirely uncalled for and more so Rachel had grown almost used to a nicer Quinn, albeit her comment was rather tame when juxtaposed with the past. "Quinn Fabray, you apologize this instant!"

"No," Quinn scoffed, stubbornly crossing her arms in protest and staring Rachel down. "You tell me what's wrong first."

The resulting battle of wills was relatively short with Rachel being the one to falter. Admittedly, this situation was mostly her fault and as she gazed at the clasped hands in her lap, she again wondered why she continued to let Santana get to her.

But looking back up into those hazel eyes, it was quite evident as to why.

Because, she'd known—when taking this next step with Quinn—that Santana's pessimistic view of things could eventually come true (for the most part she was even morosely expectant) it was just that Rachel was still having trouble coming to terms with it.

"I apologize," whispered Rachel, anxiously nibbling at the lip between her teeth. "I suppose you're right. I was trying to deal with a matter independently but it seems that my efforts haven't been entirely successful."

Quinn shifted on the couch until her knees just barely bumped against Rachel's. "Rachel, I..."

Only the contact seemed to startle the tiny Diva—a reaction that only served in discouraging Quinn—and when Rachel instinctively jumped away from the sudden touch, the blonde started retreating as well until Rachel hand on her arm stopped her.

"I need to know what's going to happen in five months, Quinn." Rachel glanced away, her confidence finally dwindling down to nothing as she mumbled, "I've attempted to not let such a thing matter but that wasn't entirely pragmatic of me."

Quinn's eyes darkened—as the brunette snuck a peek back—and Rachel wondered if the blonde would plead ignorance once more. She certainly hoped not because Rachel doubted she could handle repeating the catalyst to her fears all over again.

"I don't know," Quinn finally whispered, looking away. "I think my parents would let me move back in once…"

Quinn's hands desperately gripped at the lilac fabric stretched over her stomach, silently finishing off the opened ended thought she hadn't had the courage to finish out loud.

Rachel nodded—mumbling a soft acknowledgement only to fill the silence—because it honestly wasn't so surprising. Her night had been plagued with variations of these same words.

Getting a conformation though, it left her spirits wholly depleted—she was just tired.

"But I like this," offered Quinn, gesturing slowly towards Rachel and then back at herself. "I like being with you and…" Quinn looked down, cheeks tinged pink, "kissing you. I like…"

Rachel smiled, as the blonde's embarrassment seemed to finally exhaust her sudden (uncharacteristic) bout of verboseness. It reminded the tiny Diva of exactly why Quinn was worth all this extraneous angst and maybe Santana knew that. It certainly explained why the Latina was still so incensed by being shunned by Quinn.

"It seems it would be plausible to deduce that you like me," the brunette teasingly finished.

Quinn's eyes snapped up to amused brown ones before turning angry. "You shouldn't have to settle for a maybe, Rachel."

The brunette found herself nodding before reaching out to pull Quinn's hands away from abusing her dress. The blonde reluctantly complied and started to relax at the feeling of Rachel's fingers gently stroking the tops of her hands.

"I know," Rachel smiled until a stricken look flashed across Quinn's face, inadvertently drawing the tiny Diva's attention to just how ambiguous her statement was, "but I'm also aware that I like you too and five months is an exceedingly long time to miss out on for such a would-be preconceived notion."

Quinn looked down and Rachel bit her lip—inwardly panicking—when those hazel eyes reappeared full of tears. "Rachel, I can't ask…I don't know…God, all I do is cry!"

Rachel quickly shook her head, immediately reaching out to wipe the giant—hormone induced—tears away. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm quite intrigued by being the less dramatic one in this relationship."

"A relationship," Quinn whispered while sniffling through the last bout of her tears, "is that what we're doing?"

The brunette silently deliberated her next move because Rachel wasn't entirely ready to make it. She hadn't yet decided on the right avenue to take and now Quinn was looking at her with eyes so expectant and full of tears and…

Sweet Barbra, why was this so hard?

Rachel swallowed, her throat was so dry and she was entirely in need of a glass of water. Quinn would surely understand the urgency of—

"I suppose I would like to take you out on a date, if that's okay?" Rachel blurted out, looking almost as surprised as Quinn at her very own words.

But, the blonde was shyly nodding seconds later and Rachel was beaming brightly like she'd meant for this to happen all along, as any Diva would.

She was still undoubtedly worried about where this relationship would go, or more so where it wouldn't. But five months was a ways away yet, and chances like this, they didn't happen very often for someone like her.

Rachel couldn't bear throwing it all away—when this might be her only shot—and maybe it was possible for somebody to choose her.

Maybe just this once.

* * *

The phone was ringing and Rachel darted out from her bathroom, diving across her bed to answer it in her favourite marigold yellow bra and panty set. Brittany's voice fluttered through the speaker after Rachel's brief—but all encompassing—battle to unlock her phone.

"Hey Rach! Me and San were playing naughty apple thief and they don't have cell phones in _Aladdin_ so I couldn't call."

Rachel blinked a few dozen times to clear that rather (atrocious) idiom from her mind. It was almost terrifying that she was practically a seasoned veteran at such things now, after only just a few months of correspondence with Brittany.

"Ah yes, that's quite alright." Rachel paused—wondering if it would be rude to just ignore the blonde's statement—before reluctantly biting the bullet so to speak. "I can understand how the aforementioned situation could be distracting."

Rachel could hear Brittany nodding over the phone. "Yeah, San its really good at hiding her apples."

And suddenly blinking wasn't working. Rachel thought to do a jumping jack—to shake the heinous thought away—until a quick glance in the mirror yielded what appeared to be her in the midst of a stroke.

"I…umm…" mumbled Rachel with a sudden jerk of her head after a scantily clad (apple thieving) Santana took up residence in her mind once again.

Brittany sighed. "Sorry, I forgot."

"No, no it's fine." Brittany was nodding again—as the blonde's chin was knocking lightly into the speaker of the phone every few seconds—and Rachel smiled. "I appreciate that you try."

The tiny Diva stepped into her closet, setting her phone on the dresser just inside the door. An abundance of empty hangers stared back at her, thanks to Santana. Rachel had yet to rescue any of her clothing from the Latina's clutches. In all honesty, she was a little afraid too.

"San talked to me today," Brittany said, her voice bouncing around Rachel's closet by speakerphone. "She was scared I'd not want her anymore if she had to stay here."

Rachel giggled. "Which is entirely ridiculous. Sometimes, I honestly think Santana doesn't know you at all."

Brittany was giggling too and the sound had Rachel absently smiling as she scanned what was left of her wardrobe.

"San might act tough but she needs teddy bears too," Brittany said softly and Rachel silently concurred, instinctively glancing up at the gift resting on the top shelf in her closet covered in blue and silver snowflakes.

It was then that she spotted the dark garment bag hanging alone right underneath said present where her animal sweaters used to reside. She stepped closer, finding a piece of lined paper taped to it with Scotch tape.

_Dwarf, don't say I never gave you nothin' – S_

Rachel rolled her eyes but opened the garment bag anyway. Inside was an outfit that made her heart warm.

"Brittany, do you happen to know how Santana got into my room to put these clothes in here?" the brunette asked, fingering her beloved owl sweater with a blinding smile.

"Oh, no but she's really sneaky. When we play _Ninja Turtles_ I never know she's behind me until she…oh this is one of those times, isn't it?"

Rachel bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughter. "Yes, Brittany, it most definitely is."

Sound was suddenly muffled—almost like Brittany had brought the phone to her chest—but Santana's voice was unfortunately instantly recognizable. Rachel's eyes widened, almost positive she must've misheard.

Of course, her two friend's love life was rather adventurous to say the least but what could one possibly do with peanut butter and Saran Wrap?

And suddenly Brittany was back. "San's back, so I can't talk anymore but you should make sure there's honey for Q's bear, okay?"

"Yes, of course," mumbled Rachel, her face a mess of confusion.

Brittany yelled goodbye and then the line was dead.

The tiny Diva shook her head and went to pull out her favourite sweater from the bag Santana had left. She instantly inspected the wooly fabric and was relieved to see it was entirely intact.

Rachel sighed.

Santana Lopez was entirely too confusing for her own good.

She left the owl sweater hanging in her closet and quickly slipped into her predetermined date outfit. A cute navy plaid dress that just tickled her knees and flared at the waist. She felt pretty even.

Smiling, Rachel scurried down the stairs—as Quinn was set to arrive at any moment—and just as she reached the bottom there was a knock at the door. Swallowing, the tiny Diva, quickly made her way to the door, the shaky hand reaching out to open the door was the only hint of her nervousness.

Quinn stood on the porch, looking heartbreakingly beautiful with nervous eyes and a baby doll dress.

Rachel promptly stepped back to let her in. "May I take your coat?"

Quinn nodded and when Rachel turned back from the closet the blonde held out a white tulip with a nervous smile. "I…um… I got you this. I didn't know what your favourite flower was so… well I decided to get mine. I hope that's okay."

Smiling, Rachel carefully accepted the flower—almost afraid that she would damage it by being too hasty—before nodding.

"It is definitely okay. I've never received flowers before, well besides my customary after performance roses but…" Rachel sheepishly glanced away, undoubtedly embarrassed by her long-winded response. "Thank you."

Quinn looked down shyly before gazing up with a small smile. "You don't have to thank me...I wanted to."

"Thank you regardless," whispered Rachel, slowly leaning in to place a soft kiss on the girl's lips.

It lasted for only a moment and then the tiny brunette pulled back and grabbed Quinn's hand to tug her towards the living room. Rachel had spent most of the morning cleaning and then placing her gold star blanket, an abundance of pillows and a picnic basket on the carpeted floor amongst a few dozen tea light candles.

Because this was Rachel's ideal date, as she'd always found picnics to be so amazingly intimate. The winter weather and the selectively secret aspect of their relationship was never going to be a big enough deterrent for Rachel Berry, especially when it came to her dream date.

"A picnic," whispered Quinn and Rachel slowly nodded. "You took Finn on a picnic."

Brown eyes widened as their owner freely acknowledged the major faux pas she'd unknowingly made possible by a stuttered, "What I…"

"Santana told me," offered Quinn with eyes still just the right amount of dark and terrifying to send poor Rachel spiralling.

She quickly grasped the blonde's hands, her face an odd mixture of horror and apology.

"I assure you that it wasn't my intention to appear like I was recreating such a circumstance because I wholeheartedly regret its very existence. I just happen find picnics to be incredibly romantic and…" Quinn's continued lack of reaction unnerved the tiny Diva enough to push her neurosis to skyrocketing levels until her anxiety seemed to just boil over, "and my talents for charming the ladies are severely lacking. I'm not a smooth operator like Sade, Quinn!"

The blonde laughed softly before moving to sit on the bed of pillows. "Charming the ladies, Berry, really?"

Rachel huffed and sat down beside Quinn, suddenly extremely interested in fixing her skirt. "I just…I wanted it to be special and I'm sorry I ever kissed Finn Hudson. All I ever wanted was to kiss you, though such a thing wasn't clear to me until—"

"Rach," said girl's head snapped up, a cute blush staining her cheeks. "Be quiet, okay?"

And then Quinn was leaning over to kiss her. Surprise had Rachel whimpering, eagerly pulling Quinn closer until the blonde was half in her lap. That was when the pregnant girl pulled back, though as usual Rachel had words at the ready.

"Quinn, never think I'm complaining but I don't understand why you aren't furious with me. I recycled our date and admitted to being a mistress…" Rachel's eyes widened and her body stiffened. "Oh my Barbra, I'm a mistress! A filthy, no good lying temptress that only—"

Quinn fireworks were—for lack of a better word—awesome.

Because kissing Quinn Fabray had all her synapses firing a lot further down than her brain's thinking cap.

The blonde finally moved away, panting slightly against Rachel's lips. "I heard you when Finn came to the door that day. I know how sorry you are and well, I kind of deserved it anyway after what I put you through."

"Quinn you didn't—"

"Can we just continue with the date?" whispered Quinn, her hazel eyes turning bright and desperate. "I don't want to talk about Finn anymore."

Rachel just nodded.

Silence loomed with Quinn unchangeably sneaking glances at the picnic basket beside Rachel and the girl herself until the tiny brunette straightened up, inadvertently moving Quinn back as well. She quickly reached for the basket, flipping the top open in front of curious hazel eyes.

"While I don't usually believe in straying from a vegan lifestyle even whilst cooking, I thought I could make an exception if limited to only tonight."

Quinn face lit up when Rachel handed her a paper wrapped sandwich, watching as the girl readily tore it open. By the giant bite Quinn took, Rachel could easily deduce the blonde was hungry and the tiny brunette was (again) weirdly enthralled by the pregnant girl's ravenous eating habits.

"Oh my…" Quinn cut off her own moan in favour of taking another bite. "What is this?"

Rachel straightened up at the question. "Well after our trip to _Sonic_ , I researched similar recipes to the vast amounts of SuperSonic burgers you seem to enjoy and I settled on the BLT sandwich…"

Another moan from Quinn derailed Rachel's thought process momentarily.

"So good," the blonde felt the need to add as well.

"Well, yes, I suppose it isn't made with the bacon you're used to. My auntie tells me the belly of those poor pigs is increasingly more tasty… oh my Barbra, they're going to hate me."

Quinn seemed to concur with another loud moan, much to the tiny Diva's misery. Rachel's answering frown had her digging through the basket for some vegan friendly chocolate strawberries to drown her sorrows.

At the very least Quinn was happy, Rachel supposed that was all that mattered.


	28. Chapter 28

Rachel realized that she liked being the big spoon. It made her feel needed in a way she'd never experienced before. Admittedly, the position was rather unorthodox, what with Quinn's (slightly) taller stature and constant need for control. Yet, the blonde didn't seem to mind, if anything—as Rachel snuck a peek over at the almost serene features of said girl's face—Quinn appeared to relish it.

It was somewhat of a shock at first—since Rachel (like the majority of the general population) had witnessed the overly firm iron fist Quinn employed in her relationship with Finn—but when the blonde quietly whispered her wish to be held, Rachel wasn't about to refuse.

And such a thing made Quinn Fabray that much more appealing in the eyes of Rachel Berry. She wasn't going to lie, taming Quinn's largely dominant personality was an incredible ego boast, but more than that, it was a sign that Quinn was finally starting to trust her.

Surely, such a thing would bode well for her in a couple months time. Theoretically speaking, of course, as Rachel was already aware that the odds (being in her favour) were astronomically slim. And while that voice (that sounded conspicuously similar to Santana's) had made it quite clear that such naivety was offering her heart up to be broken, Rachel just wasn't able to help it.

Besides, she'd already all but promised she was passed these reservations—or at the very least not letting them fester any further—and Rachel Berry wasn't about to become a liar. Still, she supposed she had vastly underestimated the situation. Her heart wanted Quinn but intellectually she knew it wasn't that simple.

Because Rachel loved—utterly and hopelessly so—but found she hadn't yet taken to dealing with the loss quite well. It was why her father's didn't allow her any pets. Goldie, her beloved (and only) goldfish's untimely end was still mourned annually by donning black and singing a selection of Dolly Parton hits because her favourite Beta fish had been quite taken with Dolly's backwoods style.

Shaking her head, Rachel quickly stopped her thoughts in their tracks—before they further ventured down the harrowing road to Goldie (Star)—in the only way Rachel Berry knew how.

"Quinn?" she whispered it softly, not wanting to startle the girl in her arms. "Quinn?"

The blonde huffed in exasperation and slowly rolled over so she was cuddled up into Rachel's side.

"What happened to quiet time, Berry?" grumbled Quinn.

The breath hitting the skin of Rachel's neck was entirely distracting, as the blonde burrowed her head down further into the brunette's shoulder. Seconds later, Quinn started moving once again, her slightly swollen stomach knocked into Rachel's side repeatedly as the blonde fought to get comfortable. The tiny Diva suspected that the battle was fruitless, what with a tiny person residing inside of the girl's uterus.

Finally, Rachel reached out to still Quinn's movements, softly pressing until they were both turned on their sides once again. When her hands flitted down to Quinn's lower back—absently starting to massage—the blonde froze, sighing in relief.

And thoughts suddenly started pouring in at their usual brisk pace once again. Rachel decided she really needed a pen and paper or perhaps a mini tape-recorder would be a better environmentally friendly alternative.

Unfortunately such a decision was destined to be forever stalled—lost in the depths of Rachel's mind—because Quinn took that moment to whimper her name softly under her breath.

Rachel's attentions focused back on her in an instant and the tiny Diva immediately started to babble.

"Yes, well, I didn't exactly know how long your imposed 'talking ban' lasted for and I believed thirty minutes was a sufficient amount of time to—" Rachel just barely managed to stop herself before finally blurting out, "May I ask you a question?"

"I suppose so, " Quinn sighed, turning in Rachel's arms so she was curled up against her again.

Rachel felt the head resting back on her shoulder and it was the switch that launched her into vocal orbit.

"As I'm sure you're aware, my fathers went to pick up my cousin from the airport and since it would be heinously cruel to subject any guest—much less family—to either of my dad's cooking they are retrieving takeout on the way back. I was wondering if you wanted to join us?"

Quinn's body stiffened and Rachel's immediately reacted much the same. She'd thought it would be okay, considering Quinn had met her auntie—and survived the subsequent dinner—without problem. Rachel supposed meeting the parents of one's significant other was a rather large step but Quinn already agreed to attend the Berry Christmas festivities tomorrow. She'd thought Christmas Eve would be a pre-emptive kibosh to all of the fears Rachel knew Quinn had about meeting her fathers.

Still, maybe she was imposing her will on the not quite ready once again.

"I'll come to dinner," Quinn whispered moments later and Rachel's beaming smile was instantaneous.

The tension flooded from her body and she eagerly hugged Quinn in excitement. "This is wonderful. I just know that my dads will love you, not that they don't already after they met you for that brief moment whilst answering the door at my party. I'm sure—"

"Quiet time is back on."

Rachel reluctantly bit her lip and nodded. "Okay, I suppose it is possible to implement complete quiet for a more extended period of time."

Only, the silence lasted just a couple seconds longer.

Much to Rachel's surprise, Quinn's eyes fluttered open and she said, "Ask me whatever else you want to ask me."

Rachel's reaction was immediate. She opened her mouth, ready to assure Quinn she had no such ulterior motives, but then it came to her: another question. Quinn identifying it before she did, well Rachel wasn't sure what to make of such a peculiar situation yet.

At any rate, she (now) did in fact have a question and it might be her only chance for an answer.

She almost tripped over herself to ask it.

"Why did you decide to correspond with me on _MySpace_? I can't remember anything out of the ordinary happening prior to warrant you reaching out in such a manner."

Seconds ticked by with Quinn not even acknowledging the question. Not even through subtle movement, something Rachel had seen Quinn's fear of verbal intimacy allow more than once.

But then suddenly, the blonde was talking.

"I'm used to people looking at me. I like the way it makes me feel, I guess…"

Rachel nodded. "Yes, I can see how such a thing would be most addictive, as I've been known to express my need for applause to live from time-to-time."

"That doesn't surprise me actually."

Quinn tugged on the string to Rachel's sweatshirt almost teasingly and Rachel supposed such a statement was fair. Her adoration for admiration wasn't at all a secret, so she didn't comment on the almost redundant tone the blonde chose to use.

Instead, she found herself replying with, "As I'm sure you are aware, Peter Pan was just a mere boy without Tinkerbell, Quinn."

Rachel tightened her hold around Quinn's waist as the blonde made a somewhat coherent sound of agreement—Rachel was quite sure there could be no other interpretation—and the move inadvertently seemed to calm Quinn down just a bit.

Enough to begin talking (again) apparently.

"When the Glee Club found out about… about the baby I didn't enjoy that attention anymore, except when it was you."

Quinn was speaking softly with that low timber to her voice that sent Rachel's heart aflutter and Rachel decided that she liked love, she liked it a whole lot actually.

The tiny Diva slowly turned them over so she was looking down at her favourite pair of eyes—resting her body in a space beside Quinn to ensue the girl was completely comfortable—and smiled.

"For someone who professes an ineptness at taking about one self, you're aptly skilled in taking my breath away, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn's cheeks tinted a dusty pink, as she gazed up into Rachel's eyes, bottom lip firmly between her teeth.

"Kiss me, Berry," the blonde said suddenly, the demand being a direct paradox to the shy features of her face.

Rachel was beginning to realize that everything about Quinn Fabray was a mess of contradictions. Full of roadblocks and detours: like a maze of streets with nobody to stop and ask for directions.

That didn't deter Rachel though—she eagerly leaned down to capture the blonde's waiting lips all the same—yet in the back of her mind that voice was still there, making Rachel feel like maybe it should've been more than enough.

* * *

Quinn tasted like mango and Shea butter. It had taken Rachel nearly an hour to identify—mostly because the blonde was quite proficient at entirely derailing her train of thought—but it had taken at least two to realize how utterly unexpected that was.

Quinn was always so composed, regal in her movements up on top of the hierarchy pyramid as she glided down the halls. Vanilla, lavender, maybe sandalwood—it wasn't as if Rachel spent copious amounts of time conjuring up corresponding scents for Quinn Fabray—the aforementioned just perfectly personified the girl.

Of course, Rachel had no qualms about Quinn tasting like a tropical cocktail and the blonde's pineapple Chap Stick seemed to just offer more island authenticity. Rachel hugely appreciated Quinn's attention to detail.

Because, Quinn tasted awesome… especially when she was in Rachel's lap. Somehow, they'd switched places. Rachel wasn't too sure when because—as previously stated—her mind became a bit hazy when in contact with Quinn.

Or when looking at Quinn, yes, Quinn's eyes were extremely pretty—

"Rachel," said eyes were now staring at her, being all dark and gorgeous in the midst of mused hair, and swollen lips. "Please just ask."

Rachel shook her head and quickly looked away. "It's nothing, Quinn. I assure you."

Biting her lip, Quinn reached out to grip the tiny Diva's cheek, pushing slightly until their eyes were connected once again.

"You can, you know." She seemed nervous and Rachel didn't understand until, "Just over the bra, okay?"

Brown eyes widened because honestly, Rachel was shocked. Not that she didn't want to pleasure Quinn in such a way—because she most certainly did—it was just that she'd been so careful in not alluding to those intentions during her rather limited experience under Quinn Fabray.

"I wasn't thinking about that, Quinn," Rachel said softly, looking up rather contritely into hazel eyes. "If I gave you that impression, I apologize."

The blonde's cheeks flushed further, having already been reddened by their previous—and rather lengthy—make out session.

"Oh I… Finn always wanted... I shouldn't have assumed that you'd want to…" Quinn trailed off before trying to move out of Rachel's lap in a flurry of embarrassment.

She didn't get very far before Rachel started blurting out reassurances. "Quinn, I can very much assure you that I want to touch you but I'm quite content with circumstances as they are. Please don't feel that you have to do anything more in order to hold my interest. I very much like you, Quinn Fabray."

"Okay," the blonde whispered before slowly lying down beside Rachel.

This time the Diva took it upon herself to cuddle into Quinn. She had to admit it wasn't as fulfilling as holding the girl but it was definitely still enjoyable until Quinn's arms weren't around her anymore.

No, Quinn was answering her phone, having fished it out from her purse on the bedside table. When the blonde turned her back to her, Rachel's stomach sunk.

Very few words were said—the words that were, were annoyed and mundane—and then Quinn whirled around. Her hand was now clutching said phone in her lap and those hazel eyes looked so guilty.

Rachel knew Quinn wouldn't be staying for much longer. Still, she tried valiantly to wait for an explanation, though unsurprisingly Rachel wasn't quite as successful as she'd originally hoped.

"You're not coming to dinner," she whispered, as she sat up right, eye level to the blonde who was a mere arm's length away at the edge of the bed.

Quinn bit her lip before nodding. "Puck had something planned for Christmas and when I told him I was coming here for Christmas, he made me promise Christmas Eve instead. He hadn't mentioned it for a while so I thought he'd forgotten but…"

Quinn shrugged, seemingly out of words. Rachel (obviously) didn't have the same problem.

"He doesn't celebrate Christmas, Quinn," she tilted her head slightly to the side as she began to reminisce out loud, "When he found out I did—even though my family is also incredibly devote to the celebration of Hanukkah as well—he accused me of being a traitor and didn't speak to me for an entire week."

Quinn threw her hands up in the air in response, which would of been exceedingly redundant if it wasn't an outlet for all her frustration.

"I don't know, Rachel. He said he wanted to do it for the baby and was taking about trees and Christmas music. I just…" Quinn shifted so her entire body was facing Rachel. "It's fine. I'll call and tell him to forget it."

Rachel wasn't entirely sure why Quinn's eyes were still looking so guilty, she just knew she wanted to make it all go away. She wondered briefly if she should push and get Quinn to admit to the feelings everybody knew Noah had for her but ultimately she knew it wasn't her place.

Rachel was confident that Quinn favoured her greatly over Noah, even if she'd never share a bond with Quinn quite like his. So even with the large chance the boy was doing this in an attempt to charm Quinn, Rachel wasn't worried and she definitely wasn't about to meddle again like she had with Finn. Still, that didn't mean Rachel liked to share, as she rather hated the whole yearning process. She wanted Quinn there with her not tolerating Puck's banter about sex and _Mario Cart_.

But, she supposed depriving a father of the (would-be) chance to bond with his daughter (even if through a theoretical osmosis) was entirely too selfish, even for Rachel Berry.

"No," Rachel shook her head and finally reached out to bridge the gap by gripping both of Quinn's hands. "Sometimes I'm guilty of forgetting that the world doesn't revolve around me and if Noah is going to all that trouble, he deserves the chance to see it through if you want to give him the chance to do so."

Rachel looked down shyly, as Quinn proceeded to squeeze both her hands. "You're not selfish, Rachel. You just know what you want and the people that want the same things you do but aren't willing to put in the work are the only ones calling you that. Everyone hates to lose, Berry."

Quinn was suddenly kissing her, their hands (still joined) resting between them as they both leaned in to reach more of the other.

Rachel pulled back first and smiled up at Quinn. "You'll be present tomorrow and that is all that matters. Also I'm growing quite fond of this tendency you have to shower me with beautifully woven rhetoric prior to so suddenly kissing me."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me once again," Quinn sighed with a fond roll of her eyes.

"Tinker Bell, Quinn," exclaimed Rachel, as she frantically sliced her hand through the air at the end of every syllable. "I already—"

The rest of Rachel's rant was smothered by wonderfully soft lips and a teasing swipe of the tongue.

Rachel also loved Quinn's tendency for interrupting her too.

Puck arrived fifteen minutes later; his truck was waiting in the driveway. The moment the boy saw them he was out the door and around to the passenger side ready to assist Quinn into it's slightly raised cab.

Except Quinn took Rachel's hand instead and the hangdog expression on Puck's face at the rebuff was a siren among bells. Just like the last time she'd seen it on the bleachers near the football field. It made her wonder if picking Glee that day was really about her at all.

"Bye, Rach," the blonde called through the truck's open window and the amount of effort the blonde needed to distract Rachel from her thoughts was astoundingly sad. "I'll be here tomorrow, I promise."

Rachel beamed her brightest smile, staring into dazzling hazel eyes quite happily until Puck slamming the driver's side door shut broke the moment.

The truck came to life, her eyes instinctively met his in a meld of brown and everything seemed to fall into place.

Puck knew Rachel was in love with Quinn.

She supposed it wasn't exactly hard when he was in love with her too.

* * *

Rachel had done the unthinkable. Opting out of _Pictionary_ in the Berry house was the most sacrilegious of sins. Right up there next to defamation of show tunes and only watching musicals on Mondays when there were six other days of the week—that admittedly didn't sound as synonymous as 'Musical Monday'—but were available all the same.

She could still hear the muffled sounds of her daddy yelling out the names of famous boats—having moved on from types of boats while Rachel was walking up the stairs—in response to her dad's depiction of a slice of watermelon.

_Pictionary_ wasn't exactly her daddy's game but he tried his best, which Rachel supposed was all that mattered... if he was on the opposing team of course.

There was a knock at her door and then it opened. Rachel was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling but conversation suddenly became a whole lot clearer.

Her daddy screaming out a name of another ship— _The Mayflower_ —her dad finally cracking and yelling at him— _It's a piece of freakin' watermelon, Lee. What did you think these black dots were, tiny pilgrims?—_ and her cousin laughing at their disqualification.

Then the door shut and their voices were distorted once again.

The scent of wild flowers wafted through the room. It instantly gave her auntie away, not that Rachel didn't know it was her already. Her fathers were wonderful but ultimately men in the end.

They had taken her pleas of exhaustion at face value—though admittedly Rachel was rather tired—but one knowing look from her auntie had let Rachel know she had not.

"Hi, Auntie. To what do I owe the pleasure of your foreseeable visit?"

Rachel shifted so she was sitting up against the headboard, bringing her knees to her chest and holding them there by wrapping her legs up in her arms.

Her auntie slid in next to her in the spot the tiny Diva had left. Her dark eyes were compassionate, so striking even when hiding behind the frames of her glasses, and had Rachel unconsciously curling into her side.

"Rachel Barbra, you're the most talented of actresses," the woman laughed, lightly running her fingers through the silky locks of her niece's hair. "You can fool your fathers and you're biggest of fans but you know you can never fool me."

Rachel grumbled in reluctant agreement under her breath before sighing. "Yes, Cousin Leon continues to profess that your sixth sense has grown passed a widely superior intuition."

"No, sweetie," her auntie's chest shook, as she giggled in response to her cousin's plight and Rachel burrowed her head deeper into her auntie's shoulder to weather the storm. She refused to let her head be dislodged from its spot. "Your cousin is just far too predictable."

Rachel nodded. "Like most men are, I suppose."

"Exactly," there was a pause—her auntie was clearly surprised by her choice of diatribe—and then the woman continued like she'd never missed a beat, "is this mood you're in about a boy?"

"No, Auntie, you know I'm… romancing Quinn," Rachel scoffed, pulling herself away from her aunt's shoulder to give her a not too pleased glare for even the mere suggestion.

Though her inability to get over her aching fear of being left behind (by Quinn) probably had a lot to do with the male species. Finn, Kurt… she supposed her fathers' on-going argument wasn't assisting much either.

They'd helped her realize how earth shattering it was to be betrayed.

"Oh yes," her auntie was nodding, the movement thankfully freeing Rachel from her overly pessimistic thoughts. "So this is about your girlfriend then?"

Rachel rested her head back against her auntie's rather comfy shoulder, smiling when warm arms snaked around her gently. "I suppose, though she isn't technically my girlfriend, well in the sense that neither of us have officially asked."

"So you're worrying about asking her or possibly why she hasn't asked you?"

Rachel bit her lip, wondering why she hadn't asked. She knew why Quinn hadn't and she supposed that was essentially the reason behind her keeping mum as well. Still, maybe she should.

"No." It was the truth, Rachel was fully intending to leave it there but she felt warm and safe—loved—while wrapped up in her auntie's arms. It was enough to loosen her (already loose) verbal filter. "That actually hadn't crossed my mind but now that you've inadvertently put it there, I suppose it might be beneficial to ask before it is too late."

"That's far too pessimistic an answer to have come from my Rachie," the woman pushed Rachel away from her hiding spot, gazing into her eyes. "What's going on, sweetie?"

Rachel looked down, eyes suddenly misty. "I'm finding it rather difficult to follow Lord Tennyson's advice for love and loss."

Her auntie nodded, murmuring an unintelligible sound of agreement. "Ah yes, it is a rather difficult concept and strictly speaking you definitely picked a girl that exemplifies that in spades."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?" yelled Rachel, yanking her body away rather violently. Her auntie let her arms drop as Rachel reached up to hug herself. "Quinn has been nothing short of amazing and yet it doesn't amount to anything in the eyes of others."

Her auntie smiled, despite Rachel's obvious distress, which only served to anger the tiny Diva further, until her auntie said, "Well, shouldn't it not matter what anybody thinks but you?"

Rachel petulantly shrugged; her auntie rolled her eyes.

"I suppose," grumbled Rachel very reluctantly because she knew she was being difficult.

Finally, the older woman sighed, seemingly giving up on the steep incline the conversation was taking. "I like Quinn, sweetie. She's polite and charming, maybe a little shy but I think that's good for you. It's just hard to miss the tortured soul burning in her eyes."

"I suppose your assessment is fairly accurate," Rachel conceded, her taut shoulders drooping in surrender. "From what little I've gathered, Quinn's life has been far more difficult than the norm."

"Well then," her auntie paused, smiling softly at Rachel, "you have to decide if you're ready to handle the consequences of that. Her past is part of who she is and as much as we'd probably like it to, a relationship doesn't allow you to pick and choose from the baggage carousel."

Rachel giggled, her arms—previously wrapped around her torso—falling weightlessly to her lap. "You sound like, Daddy. He told me the same thing before he gifted me a can of pepper spray on the car ride to theatre camp."

Her auntie smiled, they both did over her daddy's antics. He was the calm and collected one of both her fathers, except apparently when it came to her 'innocence' or so he continued to proclaim.

"Yes, well," the woman rolled her eyes, probably at some of the stories Rachel had heard about her daddy's battle to save her auntie's own innocence from her potential suitors when she was younger. "He is your father and the boy you kissed was scheduled to be there. It's the perfect storm for overreaction."

They both continued to laugh until Rachel looked down at her clasped hands, biting her lip repeatedly with troubled bites. The release though laughter seemed to be enough to break through to Rachel's inner turmoil.

"I'm trying my best to be patient, Auntie," Rachel sighed, glancing up with tears in her eyes. "Such a thing doesn't come naturally to me but I've attempted to amend that until Quinn is ready but…but what if she leaves?"

The woman reached out to grasp both her hands, squeezing them firmly until Rachel's watery eyes were staring into her own. "Then you call me and I'll be on the next flight back here to watch the longest Barbra marathon the world has ever seen."

Rachel shook her head. "I appreciate the sentiment but even Barbra wasn't enough when priorly faced with Quinn."

Things turned quiet for a while, Rachel crawled back until she was snuggled in her auntie's arms. It was nice until…

"Do you trust her Rachel?"

Rachel looked up, eye wide. "Barbra? Of course I do, not that we have ever met in person to build such an emotional foundation to date but I have our predestined meeting penciled in—"

"Quinn, sweetie," her auntie laughed, only three short chuckles before her arms pulled Rachel closer. "Do you trust Quinn enough to give her your heart with the confidence she'd never break it?"

"Of course I…" Rachel bit her lip, her interactions with Quinn flying through her mind's eye. Quinn was the one to kiss her, the one to pronounce her feelings through MySpace; the one that said she liked her first. Admittedly, Rachel had asked her out on a date but only after Quinn had implied she wanted them to be in a relationship. She realized. "I…I don't know."

"Well then maybe Quinn isn't the only one with reservations, Rachie," Brown eyes widened in complete and utter horror because it had all been a lie. She'd promised herself after Finn she wouldn't just brush her feelings under the rug and now… "Sweetie, that doesn't mean anything except that maybe you and Quinn are fated to be together a little later on when you're both ready. That could be tomorrow, it could be years from now. You just have to have a little faith, sweetheart. It'll all work out the way it's supposed to in the end."

Her auntie hugged her to her chest and Rachel just cried.


	29. Chapter 29

Dancing penguins never kiss on the cheek. Rachel suspected their tuxedoed arrogance was at fault for depriving such a cute animal of those corresponding kisses. She knew it was true because she was their dance teacher after all.

The kissing continued however. Around her cheeks, across her forehead and over her nose, Rachel instinctively scrunched it up in what she assumed was a rather unattractive pose.

Also penguins didn't giggle, especially the dancing kind. They were fierce fox-trotting bandits, clearly not the type to indulge in bountiful moments of laughter. Yet the giggling was annoyingly persistent, so Rachel was naturally suspicious.

Brown eyes blinked open—batting away the snowy plains inhabited by her aquatically inclined students—and subsequently found herself drowning in pools of hazel.

Quinn.

She briefly wondered how the blonde managed to find her way to the South Pole until Rachel's sleepy mind registered the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Ha, she knew penguins were entirely too debonair to appear adorable for formality. Circumstances were much less confusing now that she realized Quinn was at fault.

Rachel suddenly found herself being kissed again—Quinn had eagerly latched herself on to Rachel's top lip—and dear Barbra this was the perfect way to awake every morning. It was when Quinn's tongue started tracing that same lip that everything took a turn for the worse.

Her plan—expertly PowerPoint(ed) with animated bullet points, many colour-coded pie charts and one bar graph—didn't allow for this (rather enjoyable) activity at all. As a matter of fact, this very moment could be found on slide ten (bullet point two) entitled: Things Not to Do Even Though I Want To.

Yes, Rachel was well aware the title left little to be desired—as it was not at all concise and admittedly only just passable as a title to begin with—but it was the unfortunate casualty of a four o'clock in the morning (all night power-pointing) delirium.

And nevertheless, the slide was (regrettably) still sound in its reasoning.

Rachel reluctantly pulled herself away from Quinn, shyly gazing up into hazel eyes as her bottom lip unconsciously found itself between her teeth.

"Hi," she whispered and honestly, Rachel wondered why this couldn't work.

At the present time—for all extensive purposes—it was going swimmingly and it would until Quinn returned to Noah's, leaving Rachel unable to stop her fears from festering with Quinn-sized reinforcement.

Rachel would've ignored such problems previously. Her prior need for rose-colour was much more justifiable before circumstances with Finn unfolded like they had. And while Rachel didn't actually believe he loved her—anymore than a general ideal—the entire ordeal was still significant because losing Finn had hurt her. Watching him walk away had almost broken her and—while she generally hated the insipid offerings of the common cliché—Rachel knew with Quinn it no doubt would.

She was finally at the point where she needed an answer. If Rachel was being entirely truthful, it had been a miracle she'd lasted this long. Tomorrow, Rachel thought it was the perfect time to ask because she wasn't about to ruin Christmas for her own selfish desires.

Quinn distracted her with an amused quirk of her lips. Rachel probably didn't need to mention her fondness for staring at them.

"Berry," the blonde laughed with a small tilt of the head, "what could you possibly be thinking about when you have me on top of you?"

Quinn still seemed quite amused, something Rachel loved. Normally aloof and angry were the blonde's default settlings and while Rachel highly enjoyed the mystery of it all, Quinn teasing her—without the venomous blows to her self-esteem—was still something entirely too new for the novelty to have worn off thus far.

Rachel imagined her eyes were moony with passionate love, which was unfortunate because she hadn't quite managed to master communicating with her eyes as well as Tyra just yet.

She quickly started talking in an attempt to distract from the maniacal gleam to her gaze. "Well, as I'm sure you are aware, the Christmas season is known to inspire the giving of gifts and I happen to have one for you."

Rachel tried not to worry when Quinn started to frown, even though she was more than happy for the distraction. As one would expect, the urge to be kissing Quinn Fabray was much greater when said girl was on top of her.

"Oh," the blonde whispered before suddenly finding Rachel's pillowcase to be entirely too interesting to maintain eye contact.

"Quinn, what's wrong?" Rachel could feel herself spiralling into another nerve-filled ramble—something that was regrettably out of her control—though she supposed it was marginally better than fighting against her completely tattered self-control. "If it is the gift, I can, well I suppose I can't exactly return it and I highly doubt Brittany will allow me to even if such a thing was possible but... I hope you'll at least open it before you make a judgment on—"

"Rachel," hazel eyes were now back looking into Rachel's own, "where is the gift? I'd like to unwrap it."

Rachel opened her mouth to protest—since she didn't quite consider that an answer at all—but eventually found herself slipping into her closet to retrieve the snowflake covered box from one of the shelves.

She was walking back with it carefully perched in her arms when Quinn spoke, "I didn't think I'd get anything this year besides the bottle of peppermint schnapps Puck gave me last night."

Rachel looked (rightfully) scandalized, gasping dramatically as she sat on the bed and dropped the gift box between them.

"I can't believe Noah would think that such a thing was an acceptable gift for a pregnant woman. Of all the asinine things he's done—"

Rachel found her mouth suddenly muffled but continued ranting behind Quinn's hand until the blonde started talking. "He gave it to me for him, if I ever want to talk about things."

Quinn then pulled her hand away and Rachel was cutely pouting, even though the confession had pierced her heart.

"I see," she whispered before shaking her head at her irrational bout of jealousy. Rachel quickly grabbed the box and handed it to Quinn. "I feel like I'm required to give an introductory speech of sorts but I'd hate to ruin the surprise. I just thought… well I suppose I thought you needed something to remind you of how special you are."

Quinn bit her lip. "Rachel I…"

Seemingly overwhelmed (something Rachel certainly didn't want) Quinn's eyes were misty, her hands were shaking—as they gripped the box the tiny Diva had painstakingly wrapped—Quinn was every bit of the hormonal mess that accompanied pregnancy.

Unsurprisingly, Rachel was utterly charmed.

Something she expressed (horribly) with her eyes as wrapping paper fell away and the gift box was opened. Quinn finally pulled out the adorable blonde furred bear that Rachel and Brittany had spent a day stuffing at _Build-a-Bear_ amongst a horde of hyperactive toddlers and _Sesame Street_ Christmas carol covers.

"It's wearing a cheer uniform…" whispered Quinn as she fingered the ends of the miniature regulation Cheerio skirt.

Rachel perked up at the observation, smile appearing quickly on her face.

"Yes, Brittany and I approached Coach Sylvester for the contact information of her sweat shop of choice in Hong Kong. Naturally, she agreed after I explained the situation and agreed to pay the fee for express shipping." There was a pause in which Rachel found her attention drawn to the bear and then at Quinn's disbelieving face. She sighed. "Fine, I also might've agreed to help convince Mr. Schue to be wed to Coach Sylvester's maid, Hemelda, until she achieves green card citizenship."

Quinn opened and closed her mouth—clearly at a loss for words—before she whispered, "Why?"

"I know you think that you've lost this, Quinn but you haven't. You're every bit of the strong, brave and highly intelligent girl you were back when you donned this uniform." The blonde looked away and Rachel reached out for her hands, covering the slender digits with her own until they were a tangled mass amongst fair-haired fur. "I suspect you already know of my fondness for metaphors, so I thought physically representing one was appropriate."

Hazel eyes were brimming with tears and Rachel suspected that Quinn was trying desperately to stem their fall. She always had to be the strong one and it must've been scary to find her emotions were now biologically programmed to ignore her every command.

Quinn's breathing faltered, her voice noticeably cracking as she said, "That girl was horrible to you, Rachel."

The tiny brunette squeezed the still captive digits in her hands, as the words hovered between them as the past always tended to do.

"I'm more than aware of that, Quinn," Rachel admitted softly, her anxiety festering until her gaze turned shy, "but that doesn't alter the aforementioned characteristics that make you wonderful."

Rachel was attacked with lips again, as tears finally spilled over onto the blonde's rosy cheeks. Bear Quinn fell beside them on the bed and sweet Barbra, Rachel almost hoped that this moment could last forever. Except, it wasn't fair and it shouldn't. Quinn deserved to be kissed by somebody that was entirely focused on her, not the uneven ratio Rachel was currently presenting.

She was gently pushing Quinn away and subtly putting some space between them, though the look on the blonde's face told Rachel she hadn't been as stealth as she'd originally intended.

"Little Leon will be knocking on the door any second. I just need a few minutes to—"

Banging and high-pitched squeals—as they travelled from Rachel's door down the hallway towards her father's room—were suddenly reinforcing her words, so Rachel reasoned the rudeness of the interruption could be over looked. It was true though. Her nephew was far from patient like every five-year-old naturally was around the holidays, or any day for that matter.

Quinn's hold loosened enough for Rachel to break free and the tiny Diva gave Quinn a small smile before slipping behind the washroom door.

Rachel stood still for only a moment—breathing deeply as she forced a cheerful smile to appear so flawlessly in the mirror—and then she set about looking for a suitable brush to attempt to tame her unruly bed hair.

Humming Christmas carols as she went.

* * *

Santana and Brittany were miraculously on time, something Brittany cleared up the moment they stepped through the door.

"I was finding San's apples in the car when I saw a Christmas elf spying on us through the window and Santa didn't want the dentists' to be scared so they could come home for Christmas."

Rachel just nodded as little Leon ran by, freely hitting Santana's shin with the toy lightsaber Rachel's daddy insisted on putting in his stocking. His motives were purely self-serving of course; a fact that was only further proven when said man suddenly appeared from the kitchen with a sword of his own.

Santana took to glaring and mumbling profanities in Spanish until the battle disappeared into the living room. Beside her, Brittany just seemed disappointed they'd left her behind.

Rachel smiled. "I'm more than positive my daddy is in possession of another sword. You're welcome to ask him for it, if you'd like."

It seemed that was all Brittany had to hear before she was skipping off in the direction of Rachel's daddy's failed attempts at a formidable battle cry. It was honestly entirely too embarrassing for much more of a comment.

Only then did Santana speak up. "Berry, your little fellowship friend is lucky Brit's doesn't condone the killing of elves."

Rachel frowned because while she certainly wasn't well versed in the fantasy works of J.R.R Tolkien, she knew that the elves weren't at all comparable to hobbits.

"So B finally got you declawed," Quinn quipped from her side.

Rachel watched the blonde's supple curves turn dangerously sharp. Her gaze turning icy as slender hands clenched at the red and white fabric stretched over her stomach, Rachel was quickly realizing that Quinn had vastly misinterpreted the situation. Though, Quinn defending her honour had Rachel's heart close to beating out of her chest, Santana had already decided to retaliate and things were escalating far more quickly than Rachel was ready for.

"What's it to you, Juno?" Santana took a menacing step forward and Rachel decided that her still unproven hypothesis of Santana's psychopathic tendencies really needed to be revisited at a later date. "It's not like you care when it's got nothing to do with you."

Rachel took that as her cue to put herself between them and boldly push Santana towards the kitchen. Well, 'nudge' would be a more accurate word, since 'push' would ultimately find her in a ditch somewhere by Boxing Day.

The thought had words tumbling out of Rachel's mouth in no time.

"Please see if my auntie requires any assistance with the green bean casserole. She's been looking forward to meeting you ever since I used feral as an adjective to best describe you."

Santana glanced over at Quinn and then back at Rachel, a smirk finding its way onto her face. "Brits does want to get her hands all up on you, so if you wants me to get feral—"

"Kitchen, please," Rachel interrupted, as she quickly found herself grabbing onto Quinn to keep the blonde at her side.

Santana laughed loudly, her gaze momentarily boring into the tempestuous hazel in Quinn's eyes before leaving with a shake of her head.

Most of the time the angry mask Santana constantly wore—consisting of quite a shocking amount of bravado and intimidation—was at fault for hurting countless people's feelings. Rachel had learned to overlook such an unfortunate character flaw (a picking her battles of sorts) but then there were other times when the girl would just assail a victim for sport.

It was something a lot less easy to forgive.

Quinn's sexual identity was always a touchy subject for the blonde; Rachel suspected it was most likely the topic of sex as a whole to be honest. Her stomach churned at the thought; how she was selfishly planning on accosting Quinn with a question that would make her face such a thing head on. It was just…she glanced up at Quinn—while her eyes were still being all dark and gorgeous—their relationship couldn't continue like it was. Well, truthfully, Quinn didn't seem to mind, so Rachel supposed she'd have to admit to her motives being entirely self-serving.

She sighed and unintentionally captured Quinn's attention. "Are you okay, Rachel?"

"Yes, of course, Quinn," Rachel offered, smiling brightly in the face of the blonde's gentle gaze. "I'm aware that Santana's threats are mostly comprised of frivolous promises unless I somehow wrong Brittany in anyway. Though to be technical, if we were keeping score, Santana is much further along in that department than I am."

Quinn laughed lightly and started to slowly lean in—something Rachel innately mirrored—until somebody behind them started obnoxiously clearing their throat. Both turned around to see Rachel's dad standing there in an adorable frilly blue apron with a wooden spoon in his hand.

He immediately noticed the attention on his attire and sighed. "Your Aunt Robin decided that being single meant that she was more in need of the apron advertising free kisses and hugs."

Rachel giggled while Quinn offered an amused smile. She imagined the blonde was still too terrified of her father to outright laugh at his misfortune.

"You look lovely, Dad," Rachel bit her lip to stifle another giggle at his petulant frown. "Baby blue will forever be your colour."

He sighed with an almost resigned shake of his head. "Don't humour me, Rachel, just take a scarf out to your nephew. He and your friends are building a snowman out front because neither your aunt or I trusted Santana around fire and knives."

Rachel nodded and he swiftly strode back into the kitchen where she imagined her auntie was putting him through his paces. The woman didn't quite accept her family's hopeless dedication to take out all that well.

Nevertheless, Rachel and Quinn were dutifully dressing for the outdoors minutes later. Neither wanted to be drawn into the kitchen to cook or (in Quinn's case) cook with her dads and it just so happened that the snow—that _WOHN News 8_ (again) failed to inform their viewers of—was a perfect excuse.

When they reached outside, Rachel made her way over to little Leon immediately, leaving Quinn to sit on the swing on the porch. That was unfortunately when Santana spotted her.

"It doesn't surprise me that you own mittens on a string, Berry, oh and they're Christmas themed too. How precious."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You've already had the pleasure of seeing them when you insisted on drowning your sorrows in a slue of peach schnapps."

"Sanny be nice," Brittany suddenly appeared, tugging on her girlfriend's hand to get her attention. "We need help putting the head up on Frosty, then we can put on his magical hat."

Brittany held up a rather shabby top hat and honestly Rachel had no idea where she'd retrieved it from, though it wouldn't surprise her if her daddy had it stashed away somewhere for just an occasion. That was when her nephew decided to throw a snowball in Rachel's face. She squealed loudly at the slight pain and shock of the cold with Santana gleefully hi-fiving Leon in front of her.

Apparently the two were over their differences—how marvellous.

Rachel brushed off the snow with her hands the best she could, more of less turning it into slushy water. Thankfully her nose was just red from the cold and not anything harrowingly worse but she was unfortunately in need of a towel.

"Leon, we'll talk about this later, " she said, as she gazed disappointingly at the boy. Him pouting in his Spiderman themed snowsuit was quite adorable with his messy hair and cute brown eyes. "Though I suspect bad influence was at fault."

Her gaze naturally fell to Santana—who was currently bent over laughing and using Frosty's head to prop herself up—when Quinn appeared beside her. Rachel just sighed and allowed the blonde to pull her inside.

* * *

She'd been pulled upstairs to the bathroom and gently pushed onto the toilet seat. Her daddy had given them a curious look as they passed him rummaging through the hall closet for the special holiday themed placements. He had to be aware of the romantic turn in her relationship with Quinn—both her fathers probably were—but thus far neither of them had mentioned it.

Normally they wouldn't need too, as Rachel was quite open about her life without much prompting. She imagined the inevitable closeness of a small family was at fault, though she supposed it was rather difficult to find a confidant—before Brittany—when she wasn't all that liked by her peers. She wasn't quite sure why she hadn't told them, it just never seemed to be the right time.

Rachel watched Quinn carefully run a cloth underneath the tap before ringing it out. The blonde slowly turned and raised her hand up to gently wipe the damp warm cloth along the skin of her face.

"I'm sorry about, Santana," mumbled Quinn, as she cautiously wiped around Rachel's reddened nose. "She's mad at me and she's taking it out on you."

Quinn's eyes didn't look as dangerous; that sharpness being muddled into an almost softer shade of brown. Rachel sighed dreamily and let her eyes slip closed when Quinn moved the cloth to wipe over their lids.

"Don't apologize for somebody else's actions, only your own," Rachel reached up to stop Quinn's ministrations, carefully pulling the cloth from her grasp and setting it near the sink. Letting her eyes flutter open, she looked up at Quinn with a shy smile, "and I believe you have nothing to apologize for that you haven't already."

Quinn bit her lip and nodded. "Okay."

Rachel wanted to kiss her and it was suddenly rather difficult to remember why the matter was even up for debate. Quinn was wonderful and in these moments that was sufficient enough to assuage Rachel's fears just momentarily. She found herself leaning up towards Quinn against what she knew was better judgment.

Until the bathroom door slammed open.

Rachel immediately spun around and sighed at Santana's overly violent entrance. "Santana, surely you've had enough of tormenting me for one day. I don't—"

"We need to talk, Bashful Baggins," the girl interrupted with an unapologetic shrug. "Your tiny dad is making hot chocolate and didn't want me near the stove. I know how to cook, okay but anyway, Tubbers, they want you downstairs."

Quinn seemed hesitant to leave but Rachel knew she wasn't about to outright refuse to help one of her fathers. She lightly squeezed her hand before letting it go. Santana didn't waste any time striding over. Quinn rolled her eyes but passed her on her way to out of the room without incident.

Rachel huffed exasperatedly. "Why must you bait her? Don't you think she's going through enough?"

"Seems like she's got it pretty easy to me." Rachel continued to stare incredulously and Santana rolled her eyes. "It's her own fault she's waddling around with a human mistake inside of her, so that shit totally doesn't count."

Rachel scoffed because honestly the girl's insults were getting rather ridiculous, especially when Rachel knew that she'd initially wanted to assist Quinn in the beginning.

"Yes, Santana that was a completely rational explanation." She quickly stood up so Santana wasn't towering over her by much any longer. "I must congratulate you on being more idiotic than believing a hot tub is a sperm count amplifier."

Santana glared at her for a moment—and Rachel might've momentarily thought she swallowed her tongue—before the Latina shook her head. "That's what she told him? He's more of a mistake than baring Puck's offspring."

Rachel sighed but didn't say anything to dispute it. Finn was a great guy—though greatly misguided and his intellect was a tad slow—but she'd never be able to convince Santana of that. Rachel was quite verbose but Santana's wit—and general distain for Finn—would keep them arguing for days.

"If you're done 'keeping it real' as you like to say, what is it I can do for you, Santana?"

The Latina's shoulders fell just a bit and she supposed that was a subtle sign of her lowering of arms. Rachel was eternally grateful because as one would expect a battle of wills with Santana didn't at all interest her as much as it did when with Quinn.

"Listen, I just wanted to say thanks or whatever…" Santana then was rolling her eyes, something Rachel would be a fool not to expect, as the Latina did it rather a lot, "not that you did anything worth it but Brit is forcing me to."

Rachel bit her lip, attempting to stifle her untimely need to giggle because Santana was utterly hopeless in regards to Brittany, so much so that she was using her girlfriend as fodder to dismiss doing something nice. This more than explained why the girl had been so insufferable today.

"There is no thanks necessary," though Rachel took that moment to beam brightly in Santana's direction, "but why exactly am I receiving these enforced words of gratitude?"

Rachel looked up at the girl curiously and found an almost pained expression plastered all over the Latina's face. She supposed some things were above the realm of change when dealing with Santana Lopez—her need to appear mean and unflappable was one of them.

Santana crossed her arms, eyes boring down into Rachel's own. "I went to my parent's for Christmas. I told them I wasn't leaving B for anything and now we're working it out and stuff."

Rachel squealed, jumping up and down excitedly.

"That's fantastic, Santana," she exclaimed, beaming and rosy with complete happiness before she added, "I'm going to hug you now."

She managed to latch on for a few seconds before Santana could make an offensive move that shook her off. Rachel didn't mind, as this was their first ever hug as friends—it being entirely one sided didn't matter in the slightest.

"God, Berry," Santana yelled, jumping away rather dramatically, as if she were burned. "I gots to burn my clothes now to purge myself of the stench of barnyard animals and bacon grease."

Rachel sighed. "Santana, I highly doubt I smell—"

"Look, I know you're gearing up for the journey away from the Bag End, so just don't listen to what Q has to say," Santana paused to shake her head (almost fondly) which ultimately puzzled Rachel entirely. "When that closet case opens her mouth, she's as good as a mute at a spelling bee."

Rachel's eyebrows lifted at the insult but she was quickly interrupting because she honestly didn't understand (or at all want to know) where this insulting bit of advice was leading. "Santana, I don't—"

"Yeah, Berry, you should know that I don't care." Santana waved her hand carelessly around and Rachel took a step back in an attempt to thwart any attack to her nose. "I planned on giving B my credit card to help along your aspirations to be a bait date on _To Catch a Predator_ in time for Christmas but I forgot, so just make whatever decision you have to make on Q's actions instead."

Rachel bit her lip, her mind racing in an attempt to detect any impropriety within Santana's remarks. It was when she found herself without any that she became suspicious and so utterly confused.

"Why are you being so… well somewhat accepting of our relationship now?" she finally blurted out because it was entirely impossible for her to keep in. "If I'm not mistaken, it seems like you almost want us to succeed."

Santana shrugged. "Watching you both crash and burn is fun for me."

"I don't believe you," Rachel petulantly copied Santana's previous nonchalant response to which Santana answered with a slight narrowing of the eyes, "but that's beside the point. How am I supposed to be in a relationship when I'm constantly at a loss for my part in it? You can't honestly—"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Dwarf," Santana raised her hand up immediately to stop whatever slue of words Rachel wanted to add in retaliation. "I'd say I told you so but that's too easy even for me. You can continue to blubber on about how fucked up your tubby girlfriend is once I'm gone 'cause that right there is what you dumped Finnpotent for. So make a decision already, 'cause the voluntary victim gets nobody's sympathy."

Rachel sighed because Santana was right, annoyingly so. Mostly because of the smugness and the condescending delivery—Rachel imagined it was an innate skill.

Still, hadn't it been what people were telling her all along, something she'd known all along? It was entirely possible that Quinn was offering all she'd ever be able to and Rachel supposed that was where her problems lie. Just because she was always going to be a person who wanted more than that.

"I don't know what to say…" Rachel finally mumbled with another small—resigned—sigh.

Santana (as expectedly) gasped dramatically. "Hallelujah! Praise my Morissette-looking, God! She finally shuts her damn mouth!"

"I don't appreciate your remark, Santana Lopez," exclaimed Rachel, pouting as she crossed her arms in aggravation. "While I enjoyed the movie in question—mostly because I always find myself somewhat enamoured by the peculiar acting duo that Matt Damon and Ben Affleck make—everybody knows if God was ever to be female, Barbra would most surely be the best candidate."

Santana shook her head, her eyes straying to the ceiling in complete disbelief. "Brits wants me to invite you to Puckerman's party for New Years. I already told her you said yes because she gets what she wants."

"I'd love to attend." Rachel smiled and excitedly clasped her hands together. "Usually my plans are a lot less glamorous until my fathers and I settle in to watch Barbra in—"

"You're good for Q, you know," Santana said in the most conversational voice Rachel had ever experienced while dealing with Santana Lopez, also completely omitting how she'd rudely interrupted, much to Rachel's chagrin. "She needs you hell of a lot more than you need her, before and after she pushes out her demon spawn."

Rachel didn't notice Santana had left until she angrily slammed the bathroom door on her way out.


	30. Chapter 30

Santana was right—though she'd never expressly tell the girl such a thing—Rachel was being entirely ridiculous. She and Quinn had only shared one real date; the other Christmas themed activities—that she'd painstakingly planned for them to partake in over the holidays—couldn't be rightfully included, no matter how much Rachel liked to believe they were. She was being selfish and not at all the person Quinn needed her to be.

It didn't stop her from still wanting though but Rachel would—for all extensive purposes—just need to get over it.

And she planned to start immediately.

So after Santana and Brittany left and dinner began with the usual fanfare—boisterous conversation, her daddy donning the tissue paper crown from his Christmas cracker and the always-lively battle over the gravy boat—Rachel decided that such a task would be quite simple.

Quinn was being wonderful right there beside her—freely laughing at all her daddy's horrible jokes, bashfully looking down when he knighted her with the mash potato spoon—and Rachel sat just wishing she could kiss her.

Ultimately, the tiny brunette reached over to clasp their hands instead. Quinn immediately glanced over—seemingly confused—only to abruptly look away and give her attention to her daddy's rather enthusiastic re-telling of _The Princess Bride,_ starring Leroy and Hiram Berry (respectively) of course.

She imagined her dad still found it quite romantic—considering it was a Berry table highlight without fail every year—and Rachel was just undoubtedly happy to see the fond looks between them, since they'd been almost entirely absent throughout the holidays so far.

Quinn entwined their fingers just suddenly—as her daddy approached the climax of his tale—and Rachel's heart beat faster, her whole body began to tingle. It was entirely shocking, quite literally as she felt her synapses fire and pop.

"Hey, Rach, how long have you and two been dating?"

Rachel stiffened—as Quinn quickly dropped her hand—because that was Cousin Leon, taking perfectly magnificent moments and rudely weaseling his way in. Amy—his wife—had the good sense to slap him upside the head but Rachel supposed the damage had already been done, unfortunately.

She sighed before beaming a (somewhat strained) Rachel Berry smile. "Presently, things are quite complicated, so we're progressing slowly."

Admittedly, Rachel had always envisioned announcing such a thing quite differently— with the word 'girlfriend' (or something definitively similar) as the defining point for the sentence to be constructed around—but it was entirely okay, mostly.

"Oh that's great," he coughed awkwardly while running a hand nervously through his curly dark locks.

Rachel nodded because she couldn't blame her oblivious cousin for her too high expectations, or more so the hazel eyes gazing at her.

Rachel immediately recognized the calculating look—such a thing didn't bode well for Rachel what so ever—when her auntie interrupted, "Lee, you were about to save the beautiful Hiram from his kidnappers?"

"Of course, yes," he appeared frazzled for only a moment before spearing the mash potato spoon in the air. "We must save the beautiful Hiram at once."

Little Leon cheered, his tissue paper crown—identical to her daddy's—falling just shy of covering his eyes.

The boisterous conversation (thankfully) picked back up after that.

Quinn entangled their hands once again to which Rachel smiled softly while trying to enjoy her auntie's vegan green bean casserole. It seemed things were perfectly fine and worrying was quite extraneous in the end. Her mind immediately flittered to her dessert menu with its debut quickly approaching.

Later, Rachel didn't even notice the dishes being cleared until Quinn's hand slipped from her own, as the blonde hurried off toward the washroom. Pregnancy tended to make bladder control most difficult unfortunately.

The moment Quinn disappeared from sight, Cousin Leon leaned in across the table, his eyes twinkling as he conspiringly whispered, "Hey Rach, I like her. Kind of shy though but no relationship with you could survive if she was an attention hog too."

"Excuse me," Rachel gasped, already reaching out in an attempt to maim whatever part of him was in reach. "You did not just insinuate that I'm not capable of sharing a healthy relationship with anybody but a wallflower that I'm able to parade around as if a show pony for my own personal gain? Because I'll have you know—"

"Rachie," her auntie interrupted, not battling an eyelash at the death glare she received for her trouble, "why don't you go find Quinn so we can begin serving dessert?"

When Amy slapped her husband (once again) Rachel beamed brightly—even though she might've only slightly overacted—before smugly pushing away from the table.

"Of course, Auntie," she supplied while Leon rubbed at the back of his head petulantly.

Her search for the (still absent) blonde—because she wasn't about to serve Quinn's favourite course without her—ended in Rachel's room. Quinn was sitting on her bed, holding Rachel's gifted bear in her hands. Rachel would've been thrilled if the blonde didn't look so forlorn.

The moment she stepped into the room, Quinn looked up, nibbling the lip between her teeth.

"You wanted to tell them I was your girlfriend," she said softly, her eyes so blue with sadness that the writing was almost too clearly displayed on the wall.

Rachel swallowed—because no, this wasn't how it was supposed to go, not at all—before shaking her head. "Quinn, such a thing is not important right—"

"That's not what I asked, Rachel," the blonde stood up, placing the bear gently on the bed to her left. "Do you want that?"

Brown eyes fluttered down to her feet—because she did, very much so, no matter how hard she tried to believe otherwise—before tears started dripping down her cheeks in a slurry of forgone frustration.

"Yes, yes, Quinn," she whispered before her head snapped back up, her eyes flashing desperately to make the blonde understand, "but I can wait. I am fully happy carrying on with things as they stand. I know I'm being entirely selfish and I'm attempting to change that. I just…"

She felt Quinn grab her hand, squeezing it gently with a small shake of her head. "You're not, Rachel because I want that too but I know I can't take that step with you. It wouldn't be fair when—"

"Your plan was to cast me aside the moment the baby was born," Rachel whispered, her worst fear so abruptly becoming life.

Quinn did nothing to correct her; she just looked guiltily away while Rachel's heart imploded in her chest. The figurative remnants dripping out—down her arm, her hand, off her fingertips and to the ground in large anguished drops—leaving her sleeve forever stained.

She was suddenly furious, rightfully so because it was highly unlikely there was a plea for emotional torment presently tattooed to her forehead. No, people just freely took such liberties over and over again.

Rachel threw her arms haphazardly in the air, unhinged and entirely fed up. "Did you intend to emotionally cripple me or was that just an added bonus to your overall plan?"

Quinn's eyes immediately snapped to hers, so wide and apologetic. "Rachel, this isn't…I don't even know for sure if after everything my family will take me back. I'm not—"

"So you were intending to string me along as a conciliation prize in the event—"

"No, that was never what I wanted," Quinn yelled and Rachel's hands immediately fell to her sides at the complete desperation in the blonde's tone, for the first time realizing how utterly heart-broken Quinn looked. "They're my family, Rachel. I just… I wanted both."

Rachel sighed, as she fully started to comprehend the situation. Quinn had sought her out impulsively—she supposed the surprise attack in the dead of night juxtaposed to a _Sonic_ made that undeniably clear—and by the time the blonde was aware of the ramifications, it was already entirely too late.

Quinn was swaying unsteadily—as she continued to break down so completely—and Rachel pulled her to sit on the bed because the girl was still quite pregnant. She cradled a pale hand—so warm and soft, just slightly larger than hers with fingers so long and elegant—and it was undoubtedly perfect for just a few moments longer.

Until, it wasn't.

Until Rachel pushed through the haze and saw everything wrong: the slight tremors in those fingers, the almost desperate grip to ensure she didn't let go, the sweaty palm that had previously been dampened by tears.

Rachel sighed. "I'm not well versed in your family life, Quinn, but it's clear to me that it is quite improbable to retain both of us."

"I know," Quinn whispered, not daring to let Rachel's hand go.

The most obvious question was left lodged between them as the silence continued to loom.

* * *

Quite honestly, Rachel was glad for the third night of Hanukkah—the twenty-sixth of December meant the holiday fever was done and gone—rightfully so since Christmas had been unquestionably soured indefinitely.

In New York, her auntie, Amy and her would be in the midst of scouring Canal Street for the most lucrative bargains but in Lima the only deals that could be found were half price lawn mowers at the local hardware store.

Besides, Rachel didn't much feel like moving anyway. In fact, she was quite comfortable in her room—swaddled up in her gold star blanket and eating leftover vegan cheesecake—while watching Sandra Bullock prance about on the television, annoyingly not making Rachel feel very congenial at all.

Thus was her life moving forward.

After all, her daddy owned enough feel good movies to sustain her for days.

Rachel listlessly threw her fork down to locate the Kleenex box, jostling the already used pile at the end of the bed to the floor. There was then a sudden knock at the door and Rachel flopped back down on her bed—pledging not to care—because if it was Santana and Brittany again, Rachel only felt it necessary to cry.

" _Berry," Santana yelled, knocking once before proceeding to kick in the door hard enough for it to collide with the wall, "you knows I don't like to wait."_

_Brittany followed after her, frowning as she glanced at the door. "Sorry, Rachel. I made her knock but San says that she waits for no man, even one with tiny midget fingers."_

_"It's true," the Latina nodded, flopping down on the chair resting near Rachel's desk, leaving her legs wide open crassly and not at all becoming of a lady. Be it a small miracle the girl wasn't wearing a skirt. "Even the fingers part. Your hands are freakishly small like an anemic rodeo clown's."_

_Rachel sighed, her eyes flittering to Brittany—who seemed perfectly content sitting crossed legged on the floor cradling Lithgow to her chest—before figuring it was only prudent to forgo dignifying Santana's comment with a response._

" _Brittany, I distinctly remember telling you I was indisposed until further notice."_

_Hazy blue eyes found hers while Santana glared nonsensically at the monkey buried between Brittany's breasts. "I know but I knew you were lying and San said we should come over because it is her fault—"_

" _Berry," Santana interrupted in a clear attempt to thwart her girlfriend's inadvertent strike against her (carefully maintained) scathing reputation, "you must be as dumb as your almost big boy lover because I tolds you exactly whats to do and you still fucked it up."_

" _San—"_

" _No, Brittany, maybe she's right," Rachel laughed, a little crazily, just bordering the edge of unhinged._

_The tiny brunette was fairly sure her appearance did quite well in corresponding with her current adopted role and such a thing was highly satisfying, as her hysteria freely festered and bloomed._

_For her part, Santana managed to smirk, preening at such praise like only she would._

" _Berry, I'm always right," was added needlessly after._

_Rachel—however—didn't pay the girl any mind, except to snap her wildly crazy gaze the Latina's way as she said, "Which part was I expected to follow? I distinctly remember you informing me that it was never going to happen, that Quinn would choose to return to the past without a second thought. Well bully for you, Santana Lopez. Bully for you!"_

" _Rach, your face is getting super red like mine does when I take really long breaths," Brittany looked on with wide eyes—trying to determine if Rachel was in fact in distress—as Santana mumbled 'bully for you' under her breath in complete confusion._

_Rachel huffed, as her arms flopped down from where they were previously sweeping through the air._

" _Just leave please," she sighed, hunching down under her comforter with a frown. "You just serve in making the situation entirely worse, which is why I chose to lie."_

_A disheartened Brittany pulled Santana out before the Latina could spew any serious death threats in her blonde girlfriend's defence._

There was another knock, which proved—at the very least—it wasn't Santana. She really didn't want to hurt Brittany's feelings again, if such a thing was avoidable.

Another knock.

Sighing, Rachel briefly contemplated dragging herself out of bed but then the door flew open, leaving her auntie to make a leisurely entrance.

The visit was mostly expected after all.

The woman was returning to New York tomorrow and had left Rachel alone to wallow for the last few days, perhaps hoping she'd come to the conclusion that everybody she loved weren't blood-sucking vultures feeding on her heart and departing when her chest cavity was inherently picked bare.

Suffice to say, such realization was still widely in progress.

"Rachie," she sighed, her eyes tinged with worry, "you look like Teri Hatcher before _Radio Shack_ called… or after for that matter."

Her auntie sat beside her—after clearing away what was remaining of the pile of Kleenex—drawing the brunette's legs into across her lap. Rachel just frowned, entirely miserable and completely devoid of any ambition to fix it.

She shrugged. "Well then, I suppose I have a deceased neighbour and sordid affair with the gardener to aspire to in a few years time, so my immediate plan is to stay here until my foreseeable future comes to pass."

Destine to be a desperate housewife; it was only just moderately thrilling. Marcia Cross' hair was entirely too unsettling to garner any more excitement from her than that.

"Well do you suppose you could arrange a brief reprieve to your plans in order to say goodbye to your cousin?"

Her auntie looked at her, head tilted to the side with an amused quirk of her lips.

Rachel sighed. "I believe such a thing is possible, yes."

"Great," she felt the slap to her calves before they were sent spilling to the floor, as her auntie bounced up to her feet. "Lets get moving then."

Rachel groaned—briefly contemplating the benefit of requesting to be carried—before ultimately dragging herself listlessly from her bed.

Cousin Leon was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his face brightening at the hideous mess that was her hair. Personal hygiene hadn't factored in to her latest role of downtrodden Diva as of yet, something Rachel had preferred to only slightly base on the tabloids current depiction of Demi Moore.

He pulled her into a hug, slapping her back just a little too hard.

Amy was looking at her sympathetically over his shoulder when he whispered softly in her ear, "It will work out okay, you'll see. You kind smell though, so maybe think about showering, yeah?"

Rachel felt the overwhelming urge to hobble him with a few well-placed kicks to the shin but he pushed her away far too quickly for that, almost like he had prior knowledge to such nefarious intentions.

"You'll be careful driving back?" her dad offered to which Leon nodded.

Rachel hugged little Leon and then they were gone, their mildly flashy sedan skidding off into the streets.

It was then that her dads choose to focus their efforts on her, now that she'd been convinced to grace them with her presence for the first time in mere days.

"Rach, sweetie, how are you feeling?" Her daddy was already smothering her face into his chest, his broad arms keeping her wrapped up and in place. "I know fights of love are never easy but you've got to pick yourself up, honey!"

Rachel sighed but didn't offer much more in response, since the comment was just slightly bordering on condescending. And—of course—her dad was never one to be out done.

"Us Berrys love with our whole heart," he sighed, Rachel pulled away from her daddy's embrace to gaze at them both. "Some people just don't understand that but for better or worse it's just our way."

Rachel's eyes narrowed, as she angrily crossed her arms in a huff. "What exactly are you implying, Dad? Surely I must be mistaken in my interpretation because I'm quite sure neither of you are in any place to speak of Quinn in such a way."

It was highly possible she was in the midst of a severe overreaction once again but her moods were ever fluctuating, her patience was relatively thin. She couldn't blame Quinn for wanting too much because Rachel had never once been accused of being hypocritical.

After all, it was the lowest form of insecurity.

Her dad looked affronted, his brow furrowed as he adjusted the coke bottle glasses already perfectly perched on his nose.

"Now Rachel," his voice took on that grave quality it always did when he was about to put his proverbial foot down as it was.

This only served in making Rachel angrier, stirring those feelings of rage and resentment that were just a little bit more dangerous with the rather large cracks to the bottom of her heart.

"H, maybe now's not the time—"

Her dad shot a silencing glare at his husband; Rachel felt her daddy's lanky body stiffen behind her in response.

Slowly, brown eyes drifted closed, Rachel's eyes that is because her dads were already poised for another prized fight.

And then it began.

"Leroy, I don't think you have any room to chastise me about how I parent our daughter."

"Well I think maybe you should realize that not everything is about you."

Voices getting louder, her auntie presumably clearing her throat as a hint to stop until finally Rachel had determined it had been more than enough.

Her eyes snapped open, the rage—tempestuous in her belly—suddenly seemed so boiling hot. Rachel clenched her jaw tight.

"All of your actions are so atrociously juvenile that I can't even figure out why you'd believe I'd value your advice," she yelled, her arms swinging in the air, since she was a notorious hand talker of the worse kind. "If things are fortunate enough to work out between Quinn and I, I'll work endlessly until my last breath to make sure our relationship is one that is nothing like yours."

"Rachel," her dad—of course—interrupted in his stern tone, though the slightly surprised pitch was entirely too satisfying at the moment. "I don't think—"

"No you don't," the outburst stopped him dead in his tracks but it was one that hadn't come from Rachel, only further evident when her auntie stepped forward from the wings. "Hiram, you're going to listen to what she has to say, no interruptions. You too, Leroy."

Her hard gaze swept by them all, essentially willing them to submission in a way that could only be reminiscent of Quinn. Rachel frown briefly at the parallel because in all honesty her fathers—though aggravatingly ignorant—were entirely right.

Still, she was just so overwhelmingly angry that the words were just too hard to stop.

Rachel shook her head, almost violently so before she said, "I've heard the arguments, Dad. I'm well aware you both tried your best to shield me from the most obvious truth of Dad being relegated to the couch and the continuous cancelation of any time spent together. You've been entirely at odds for months and I can't see myself being able to survive another separation. I need to know that you're committed to rectifying your mistakes because I need you. You can't leave me again."

"Sweetie—"

"Rachel—"

Both their eyes cut to each other, as the tiny brunette swiped at the tears in her eyes. It was enough and Rachel ran, feet pounding up the stairs, her door heavily slamming shut.

She didn't know how long she—again—spent swaddled in her blanket before her door opened wide.

She could smell her daddy's cologne as he slid in beside her and her dad's soft touch running through her hair. They had her surrounded, much like any instance of distress for a young Rachel so long ago.

"We're so sorry, baby."

"We're going to try."

"We're going to make it through."

* * *

Rachel blinked and then again until she finally managed to keep her eyes open. Their chocolate hue was still slightly dazed, as she sleepily gazed around in the almost complete darkness.

Strong arms were wrapped around her from both sides; her daddy was softly snoring in her ear. Her fathers had both promised to contact Dr. Greenburg for counsel at once, something they collectively admitted should've been done so long ago.

Rachel was entirely relieved; a very large part of her was grateful that her fathers weren't under the assumption that it was quite all right to freely cast her aside and leave her all alone. For Rachel, such a declaration was entirely profound and had—at the very least—spurred her to rectify the questionable state of her personal hygiene.

It was enough for now, Rachel supposed.

Only her laptop was providing any light to her room—sitting precariously on her side table leaving her alarm clock to teeter dangerously on the furniture's edge—and her eyes continued to adjust to the eerie glow from the stagnant screen.

Sighing, Rachel carefully leaned over to push the screen closed entirely, her fingers just brushing its edge before slipping and skidding across the track pad. Her small stature didn't afford her much in ways of arm span unfortunately.

Rachel reached for it again—her dad sleeping peacefully underneath her stretched out limb—but an arrant glance at the screen stopped her in her tracks.

_I drove for miles and miles and wound up at your door. I'm just afraid to knock._

She would've laughed at the absurdity of the comment on her _MySpace_ —though she did appreciate the part relayed in song—but the message had been sent just a mere ten minutes ago. Surely, Quinn couldn't be serious. There couldn't possibly be a pregnant teen staring at her front door at this very moment, arm frozen as if poised to knock in the sharp December air.

Biting her lip, Rachel contemplated it for only a second longer before crawling through limbs and rolling off the bed, sighing softly when her toes managed to touch the carpeted floor with her fathers still none the wiser of her great escape.

She quickly walked down towards the door and yes (of course) Quinn was sitting outside—knees hugged to her chest—on the first step of the porch.

Rachel shook her head.

The blonde whirled around at the noise, hazel eyes widening just slightly as Rachel approached under the moonlight. Luckily, the tiny brunette was too worn out to do much but squeeze in beside the blonde, mirroring her stance in an attempt to keep warm.

"I called your phone but it was off," Quinn whispered, though it almost bellowed into the stillness of the night.

Rachel remembered turning it off the moment Brittany and Santana left a few days ago. Their visit had depleted her entire will to converse (with anyone) and honestly it would've been utterly ridiculous to give Santana a direct point of contact to get even on Brittany's behalf.

Rachel shifted slightly—her silky gold star pyjamas felt like ice against her legs—and she tried to draw her legs impossibly closer to her chest. "Why? I was under the impression that things would just return to their prior status quo."

She watched a large maple leaf skitter by. It would lay dormant every few seconds and then the breeze brusquely swept it up once again. Rachel briefly wondered why she found such a sight so compelling but ultimately couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I saw my mom yesterday," Quinn blurted out, as she anxiously dug her nails in to her fluffy track pants. "I was grocery shopping with Ms. Puckerman."

Rachel shifted her attentions, swiftly stifling a yawn as she observed how Quinn fell pray to the aforementioned memory. "I'm hazarding a guess and saying it didn't go well?"

Quinn's eyes snapped up, hazel gazing deeply into her own before she shook her head. "No, she was actually really happy to see me. She kept asking questions about the baby and she hugged me and…"

"Oh."

Brown eyes fluttered shut, their gaze falling to socked feet. The news was undoubtedly hard to digest, especially when deep down she'd selfishly hoped the blonde would come back to her, even just for second best.

"Rachel…I…" Quinn had reached out; she was softly stroking her cheek as she nudged Rachel's head back up until their gazes locked. "I…I'm sorry."

Sighing, Rachel grabbed that hand, bringing it down to cradle between hers in her lap. "I understand how grave the importance of a familial link is, Quinn and with time I'm not ever going to be unhappy about what transpired between—"

Quinn's lips were still so entirely soft, tasting like pineapple and salt water. She felt gentle hands on her waist and Rachel's eyes drifted closed, her thoughts jumbled into a mismatched haze until those lips went away.

"Rachel," Quinn panted, breathing heavily as her forehead fell until it gently collided with Rachel's own. "I'm sorry because I didn't realize how extraordinary you are."

Rachel's eyes snapped open; she jerked her head away, leaving Quinn's to skid down the bridge of her nose before the blonde picked it up.

"Why would you say that?" the brunette yelled, she yearned to be up onto her feet but Quinn was holding her down. "It doesn't change anything, Quinn. You're still going to leave me for the inevitable greener pastures, just like everybody else. Why do you deem it necessary to pour salt on—"

"My mother hugged me and all I could think was how it didn't feel as amazing as it did with you and I realized that I love you and that I don't ever want to give that away. You make me happy and I just…" Quinn trailed off, her whole being frozen in complete and utter terror as she'd realized what she'd said. "That's it, I'm going to go now."

She loved her.

Quinn Fabray LOVED her.

Rachel imagined those letters to be giant and accented with an ungodly amount of gold stars and glitter.

Because Rachel LOVED her too.

Except, Quinn was already halfway down the driveway. For a pregnant girl, the blonde sure did move fast. Of course, Rachel chased after her, socked feet and all.

She grabbed her wrist, pulled her in tight and said, "I love you too, Quinn Fabray. I'm also inexplicably happy that my dreams are no longer limited to being a desperate housewife. As you can imagine, Marcia Cross' hair—"

Rachel found herself smiling into Quinn's lips, undoubtedly thrilled that she could finally put her talent for needless rambling to good use.

For the first time in days, things were looking quite optimistic.


	31. Chapter 31

Their lips parted leaving them both frozen, panting not a few inches apart. Brown eyes gazed up into hazel—entirely mesmerized by their dark swirling depths—honestly wondering if this was all an extremely vivid dream.

Quinn's beauty was certainly reminiscent of the most crush-worthy in all of Hollywood, so it was completely understandable to dream such things as Quinn holding her on the sidewalk outside her home. It was entirely conceivable when one also considered that Quinn had starred in her dreams once before. Rachel blushed, thanking Barbra for the midnight ambiance that hid her more than rosy cheeks.

A gust of wind was suddenly crawling up her back, seeping through her feeble pyjama shirt rather effortlessly. Rachel instinctively shifted closer to Quinn—seeking some sort of shelter from the cold—as goose bumps wreaked havoc along her flesh.

The blonde started unzipping her jacket, Rachel being at the ready to protest but found herself unceremoniously pressed into the blonde's side—the flaps of the jacket and Quinn's arms wrapping her up almost instantaneously—before she could get even one word in. Tropical punch filled her senses rather quickly, as the tiny brunette's heart started to pound because this was most definitely not a delightful projection from her sullen subconscious.

Quinn LOVED her.

Yes, she supposed the capitalization and gold star glitter had very recently become redundant but Rachel decided her critics could just as easily shut the front door if they were bothered by it.

Because—she supposed—Quinn had options, as a girl as pretty as Quinn usually would.

The blonde's mother seemed far too interested in her daughter—and by extension the baby—to deny Quinn a home in a couple months time. Of course, it all hinged on the Fabray family patriarch, Mr. Fabray, but from what Santana had told her of him, he could most possibly be persuaded once everything was capable of being swept under the rug.

Don't get her wrong, she didn't expect Quinn to just freely announce their relationship over dinner the moment she was allowed entrance into her childhood home. It was just inevitable that the blonde would pull away to ensure that anything scandal worthy wouldn't chance her being kicked out once again, or Quinn had certainly conditioned her to think that way at least.

And Noah loved Quinn too. The boy was admittedly somewhat rough around the edges but possessed a rather tarnished heart of gold. Undoubtedly, he was certainly a far more acceptable candidate to date than her if Quinn was just looking for love.

Rachel's teeth found her bottom lip, biting it as she hesitantly looked back up into those wonderfully hazel eyes. "Does this mean that your recent plans have changed? That you don't plan to cast me aside to retain what you lost?"

Quinn sighed, her hot breath clouding the air in the moonlight. Suddenly, Rachel wasn't so confident in her idea to voice her concerns out loud; it was a rather horrible idea actually.

"Rachel," she felt Quinn's hand on her cheek and Rachel looked up, not having realized that she'd buried her face against Quinn's neck in her earlier quest for warmth. "I never wanted to…"

Words caught in the blonde's throat—as she sucked in a breath—and Quinn's brow furrowed the more frustrated she became by the lack of voluble cooperation.

"I know, Quinn," whispered Rachel and with the barest hint of a smile, she reached up to pull that hand and Quinn towards the porch, her smile only growing when the blonde followed quite effortlessly.

She led Quinn down gently onto the steps and snuggled in right beside her, hoping that such a position would see Quinn talking like she had been before. The blonde was gazing out into the street and Rachel was about to search out a few dozen leaves to watch when she felt herself being drawn back into Quinn's arms.

"I want you, Rachel. I've wanted you for what seems like forever," was mumbled against her shoulder as Quinn buried her face into her hair.

Rachel gasped. "How…how long have you felt that way?"

Brown eyes fluttered closed at the barely there brush of lips against the skin her pyjamas top left bare. Overly large button up shirts were always a guilty pleasure, such as the current one she was wearing decorated by multi-coloured stars.

"I don't know," Quinn mumbled, Rachel feeling the girl's chin resting comfortably on her shoulder, "but I knew for sure when I saw you singing with Finn. Coach Sylvester made us go so she could witness Mr. Schuester leaving for good and… and you were so beautiful."

The reverent husk in Quinn's voice had Rachel's heart skipping a beat, as she gazed bashfully at her socked feet. She remembered that moment quite clearly. Rachel (admittedly) hadn't seen Quinn at all—her eyes had been only on Finn—but it was odd to think that she'd been unwittingly afforded all she wanted that day while belting out the lyrics to Journey's most notable song.

Rachel looked up, softly gliding her lips across Quinn's cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, as she watched those hazel eyes flutter shut. "I know speaking in this fashion does not necessarily come easy for you but… are you sure, you want me that is? I'd understand, you know, because a functioning familial support system is quite essential to the proper development of the adoles—"

Gasping, the brunette continued to mumble against her favourite lips—well, to be honest everything about Quinn was something she valued quite favourably—but it didn't stop her from kissing back.

Kissing Quinn was quite wonderful, as one would imagine.

The blonde pulled away and was very quickly staring at her. Rachel's breath hitched because—by Barbra—Quinn was certainly breathtakingly gorgeous.

"You're right. This isn't easy for me. I don't… well, I don't do this," Quinn turned to look out into the street as she so softly carried on. "I don't think I'm really a relationship kind of person in the traditional sense. I want them for what they can do for me and… and I didn't want this because I thought Finn offered so much more."

Rachel just barely swallowed down the fury of questions just waiting at the tip of her tongue. To be honest, the words hurt, they hurt so much more than she'd originally thought because Rachel knew what she offered Quinn never had amounted to a whole lot.

Those leaves started to blur as she forced out, "I see but I gather that changed?"

"You changed my… Rachel I… please don't… I didn't mean to…" Quinn trailed off, hazel eyes flashing dark and frantic as the blonde hesitantly reached up to brush at the few tears that managed to fall. "I'm so sorry."

Rachel quickly shook her head, Quinn's hand falling helplessly to her lap as the tiny brunette took over wiping her eyes. "No, Quinn, what you said was completely true, I'm just finding it hard to hear—"

"No, Rachel, it's not." Hazel eyes were narrowed, the blonde's elegant fingers balling into fists along side the bump to her stomach. "I used to think so but that was before I felt all those people that used to stare at me from their lockers ram right into me like I didn't even matter all. You make me want more than that."

Rachel frowned because quite honestly being accosted by body check in the hall was rather painful and certainly Quinn knew that was the cost of being for Rachel as well. Her small stature certainly didn't offer any type of protection from those beastly football jocks for her or for Quinn.

"I don't understand…." she said softly, turning slightly so she was (once again) gazing up into hazel eyes.

The blonde sighed—Quinn's lip finding its way between her teeth, as she suddenly seemed so deep in thought—and then it all went away with a quick blink of the eye. "Do you remember what I said to you when you asked me why I started commenting on your _MySpace_?"

Rachel nodded, her eyes slightly hazy as she recalled that memory—of her being the big spoon—rather effortlessly. "You said that you didn't value the attention of our peers as you once did but you found that you liked mine…oh."

My Barbra, Rachel felt faint.

Quinn took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You're enough for me, Rachel. You make me feel special and safe. You cooked bacon for me and didn't imply I'm already gigantic and I didn't need all those deserts. I'm happy when I'm with you and you make me want to make you happy too."

"But…but your parents, Quinn," Rachel blurted out, silently cursing herself for being entirely too difficult. She just wanted this so badly and it was essentially far too good to be true. "I can understand your popularity but I can never give—"

Rachel sighed happily. She was quite approving of Quinn's fondness for mid-rant kissing. Rachel could certainly appreciate it as a highly formidable skill.

Quinn then moved away slightly, though her lips still ghosted across hers as she said, "I'll always want them to be proud of me, Rachel but… but not at the expense of this. Not at the expense of something I want."

The way Quinn was looking at her—the striking conviction in those hazel eyes—Rachel imagined Quinn hadn't allowed herself to want anything too much. Unlike Rachel, Quinn was quite naïve to the yearning of her inner most desires and such a realization certainly confused Rachel even more.

"You seem so sure of your decision when just mere days ago you were ready to sever ties. I just, I'm just confused as to how you can be so sure when—"

"Look, Rachel," Quinn turned until she was fully facing her, appearing as if this were her last stand. It would've been quite endearing if poor Rachel noticed over the anxious pound of her heart. "I know why you're hesitant and to be honest I'm scared too. After this baby is born, I planned to focus on getting everything back so I wouldn't have to think about everything I lost but now..."

"Quinn—"

"Just let me…" Quinn looked away, down at their joined fingers and sighed. "I can't say I'm completely comfortable with it yet but I…I think I already love her and… and it would be easier to just try to erase every possible reminisce that this ever happened but I can't."

Rachel squeezed Quinn's captured hand, finally recognizing how much Quinn stood to lose. She felt quite obtuse for not realizing where all this stemmed from earlier. "You don't have to—"

"No, I do," Quinn shook her head, her eyes pinched closed and Rachel liked the kisses a lot better. "The baby doesn't sleep at night, so I've had a lot of time to think and it would be easier but I know I don't want to forget you, Rachel. I think you're the only good thing to happen to me for a long time and… and my parents won't understand that but it's enough for me to face how hard this is going to be head on."

"Quinn, I'm so sorry I didn't realize—"

Their lips clashed, sliding together like soft whispers, as tears mottled each of their cheeks. This was enough for Rachel, she finally knew exactly where she was supposed to be.

Her part in this relationship was right there with Quinn.

* * *

Some things were rather beyond belief for Rachel Berry at the most inconvenient of times. Even after painstakingly honing a well adjusted, moderately level headed—unless one was attempting to usurp her solos—appearance in today's society, the root cause of these baffling moments remained irritatingly constant.

Rachel was emotional—so impatiently impulsive, daringly determined—just entirely theatrical. Her heart desired too much for her head to fully comprehend and Rachel was highly aware of—at often times—such a selfish character trait.

She knew who she was—Rachel had told Mr. Schuester as much—and though she was quite well adept at empathizing with other people's plight, Rachel almost always had no understanding of it at all.

She didn't encounter a lot of similar personalities in Lima, ones that breathed to perform and had marquee lights blinding their eyes. People with such professional struggles Rachel could closely relate too, she could even proficiently handle dealing with the adversity of her jealous peers, but even at their (most recent) lowest, her fathers would never afford her the awful experience necessary to completely understand Quinn.

Sighing, Rachel glanced down at the blonde with her head currently in her lap—allowing her tan hands to weave through such angel haired locks inherently—as her mind continued to race.

Quinn had stayed for breakfast with the intention of mourning her auntie's departure. Things had been wonderful and Quinn had been quite endearingly cute while eating three helpings of her daddy's—rather disgusting—bacon cheeseburger quiche. Everything had progressed fairly smoothly—except for the aforementioned cheesy monstrosity—and then came the inevitable goodbyes at the door.

_Rachel watched her daddy drag her auntie's gigantic suitcase to the front hall. His struggle seemed to be quite the battle of balance, as he finally appeared panting beside his dearest sister, brightly coloured luggage in toe to deposit next to the matching set near her feet_

" _Wonderful," she clapped, looking up at her daddy with a pleased grin. "Everything is here but my flight leaves in two hours, so we must get them into the car."_

" _We?" her daddy grumbled, as he proceeded to heave the smaller of the three (already exceedingly large) cases towards the door._

_Her dad apologetically patted his shoulder as he passed while her auntie rolled her eyes at his displeasure; Quinn being the only one to appear worried as her daddy tumbled out the door._

_Rachel giggled—seeking out the blonde's hand to pull her closer beside her—as her auntie fondly mumbled, "Such a drama queen."_

" _That's our, Leroy," her dad sighed, his doting smile—as her daddy returned for case number two—was enough to have her heart skip a beat._

_It had been so long since she'd been present for any affection between the two._

_Her auntie winked at her before enthusiastically waving her arms in the air. "Okay, okay, where are my hugs?"_

_Her dad stepped forward first, rambunctiously swaying their joined bodies side-to-side when he finally got his arms around her auntie's waist._

" _I'll missed you, Robin," he laughed, pulling away so they were at arms length. "It definitely won't be the same without you."_

_Her auntie chuckled. "I know, H. I know."_

_Rachel was quick to jump in the moment they fully separated. Her auntie's arms wrapped her up and the scent of wild flowers flittered just under her nose._

" _Bye, Rachie," she whispered, the words just ghosting over the tips of her ears. "Remember you have a lot to offer, okay sweetie?"_

_And then her auntie was off, coaxing a hug from a blushing Quinn just a few feet away._

And that was undoubtedly the reason why Rachel was currently awake, freely permitting the _How It's Made_ narrator to pretentiously explain the ins and outs of constructing the perfect soccer ball. She would've flipped the channel—in pointless revenge for such flippant attitude—but Rachel was afraid any movement would unintentionally wake the blonde currently using her as a pillow.

Her fathers had already returned from the airport and were primping for their plans to reconnect while bringing in the New Year. She'd be overjoyed that they were trying—and she was—but her auntie's words just continued to swirl and twirl—wreaking havoc—through her conscious mind. She was fairly desperate to piece together a formidable meaning to the overtly cryptic advice.

Because Quinn was prepared to give up so much—her family, her popularity, her peace of mind—just for Rachel and it was hard not to feel inferior when all that was stacked up in the loss pile. It was impossible for her to ever compete and yet her auntie seemed believe it was only prudent to tell her otherwise.

Brown eyes drifted closed— _How It's Made_ (mercifully) being relegated to background noise—and Rachel was just lost.

There was nothing she could reasonably do but then she supposed that could've been the most foreseeable problem. Since her (recycled) picnic date—curse you, Finn Hudson—Rachel hadn't allowed herself any attempts at sweeping Quinn off her feet.

She'd been afraid.

Selfish.

She'd been selfish.

Her eyes snapped open at the pinging sounds of a new text message. It took a bit of maneuvering—on Rachel's part—but Quinn's (much needed) state of restfulness remained unscathed.

_Berry, I did wants to burry you alive in an open grave full of gravy, so you best not be bailing on New Years. Me and Brits will be over later._

Rachel rolled her eyes, though her body's involuntary shiver was quite hard to ignore. She imagined such a circumstance to be reminiscent of an underachieving slasher film just with an abundance of spiced animal fat splashed about. Shuddering, Rachel thanked Barbra when another message notification came in.

_Don't worry, Rach. I told San if she wasn't nice to you she had to find her granny apples all by herself._

Well, that was certainly...

Sighing, Rachel shook her head, gazing thoughtfully down at Quinn—instead of pondering her way through making sense of everything that was (so terrifyingly) Brittany and Santana—and she couldn't help but wonder how somebody could be so pretty.

The blonde was certainly quite proficient at making Rachel's poor heart race.

Whether it was being anonymously charming through _MySpace_ or countlessly choosing to show up at Rachel front door, it was all rather neatly tangled in such a widely romantic gesture that personified everything Quinn Fabray had to offer.

Offer.

The word seemed incapable of going away.

Rachel's mind continued to race and then the wholly familiar stirrings of success burned its way through her.

One foot and then the other touched the floor—and she really could be a world-class gymnast—as she padded off to her fathers' room because Rachel finally knew exactly what she had to do.

* * *

She was finally at Noah's infamous New Year's Eve bash, something that only the most popular were allowed entrance into. Okay, so Rachel supposed that seeing Kurt at the beginning of the night—curled around Mercedes' arm—lessened the prestige of the guest list but she was still (rightfully) tickled pink to be there.

Giggling, Rachel stumbled into the kitchen with Brittany, both in search of refills to their previous alcoholic beverages.

"Here, Rach," Brittany pushed a bottle at her, blue eyes so hazy and sparkly. "I think you'll like this. It tastes like rainbows."

Rachel blinked because Brittany kept multiplying far too quickly for Rachel to pin her down in time for a proper expression of thanks.

Still, she looked at the bottle in her hands before smiling brightly. "I appreciate that, Brittany."

Said girl was far too busy perfecting her pirouetting skills in the corner to pay Rachel any mind. It was entirely possible that Rachel had made a grave miscalculation when allowing Brittany to select her as her Beer Pong partner. Her excitement at being picked—and not relegated to a team by default—had seen Rachel freely forget all the pre-celebratory drinking Santana and Brittany had done earlier when they'd shown up on her doorstep _Jose Cuervo_ in hand.

Quite unsurprisingly, the girl's aim was a little off.

No matter though, Rachel was still having an excellent time even if Quinn and Santana were still quite consumed with winning top prize in Noah's annual Beer Pong tournament. Top prize being an old bottle of _Mountain Dew_ —wrapped in tinfoil with a ping-pong ball fastened to the top—identified only by its sloppy black permanent marker etchings declaring such a creation the 'Puck Pong Cup.'

Apparently, it was very highly coveted amongst their peers and Quinn and Santana—being raining champions—were expected to defend their crown. Rachel didn't quite understand its great esteem—according to Brittany there was pimp in its juice—but it was wonderful to see Quinn be accepted into everything she lost just for one night, even if she was technically breaking the rules by only drinking Pepsi.

"Hey, Rach, could you get me a beer?"

Rachel's eyes snapped away from—a still twirling—Brittany to see Finn dangerously teetering just in front of her.

"I suppose I can, yes," she offered, nodding afterward because it felt like the most logical action at the time.

Finn gave her that boyishly handsome grin and waited for her to procure his requested beverage from the fridge she was currently blocking him from.

He unfortunately wasn't going away.

Sighing, Rachel handed it over, silently pleading with him to leave her be. Their hands brushed and Finn fumbled with the can—just managing to catch it before it tumbled to the floor—and then he just stood there awkwardly blushing, fiddling with his recently rescued beverage.

Ultimately, just staring.

He undoubtedly still had feelings for her and it only made her feel guilty for not being able to express them in return. Being with Quinn, the personal implications were quite monumental, so much so that even she was still processing some of them. She loved Quinn but she had been greatly attracted to Finn. Rachel wasn't necessarily comfortable with such a grey area but then she maybe learned that her life was quite full of them, she just felt more content labeling them as black or white.

That still didn't change her current thoughts on Finn, as he clumsily stumbled closer to her. Rachel's innate reaction saw her stepping sideways towards the counter. It left Finn scratching his head.

"I'm sorry, you know," he said, turning towards her with such a sheepishly hangdog expression. "I know I was wrong to trick you and stuff. I just thought that if you gave us a chance you'd see what I see, that we're meant to be together."

Brown eyes desperately darted around in search of a twirling Brittany. The girl was (unfortunately) nowhere to be found. Sighing, Rachel reluctantly looked up at Finn.

"Are you incredibly intoxicated?" she questioned bluntly, her tone just simmering below shrill.

Finn's face scrunched up, looking confused as he continued thinking exceedingly too hard. "Well I can drink a lot, 'cause I'm tall and stuff and—"

"It was a rhetorical question, Finn," Rachel started wildly gesturing with her arms, "because it is the only—"

Her cleverly constructed rant was unceremoniously ended by her own yelp of surprise. All her swinging with abandon had finally burdened her inebriated balance far too much. She tumbled into what felt like an overly forgiving wall. Hazy brown eyes looked up and—oh sweet Barbra, no—she'd fallen into Finn.

He was holding her in his arms with that contented boyish grin plastered all over his face. It was enough to sober even the most influenced of minds and Rachel instantly had her hands up to push at his chest. He let her go but not before Quinn appeared to knee him in the groin.

"Quinn!" Rachel screamed, looking down at the hobbled boy clutching at his crotch to the self-satisfied smirk on the blonde's face as she watched the boy wither in pain at their feet. "You can't just… just… "

The blonde grabbed her hand, pulling her along with her as they both stepped over a tearful Finn. They passed a gleeful Santana at the entrance to the kitchen with Brittany standing a step behind her glaring fervently at the rather large blubbering giant still very much sprawled across the floor.

By the looks of things, Finn wouldn't be a problem anymore.

Rachel had just a moment to glance over her shoulder—spotting Santana now crouched near Finn's head—before she felt her legs hit the beginnings of stairs. Rachel quickly complied when Quinn started pulling again, taking step after step until they were stopped outside a closed door. The blonde procured a key from somewhere and said door was swiftly pushed open.

She spotted Noah's guitar in the corner but everything else was decidedly a less likely addition to what she imagined was his room. Things were clean, smelling suspiciously like synthetic lilac and a decidedly wonderful tropical breeze.

Quinn had been staying there.

Rachel frowned and whirled around to gaze at the blonde, who was currently leaning against a once again locked door.

"He sleeps downstairs on the couch," Quinn offered with a quirk of her brow.

The Puckerman couch was rather uncomfortable and so ridiculously in need of a slipcover. Its itchy orangey-brown fabric was just atrocious, so Rachel couldn't help it. "Noah loves you, you know?"

Quinn laughed but it was devoid of joy, only a slow moving melancholy that manifested with tearful hazel eyes. "I know but I love you."

It was seemingly enough, as Rachel remembered an equally tearful Quinn upset about hurting so many people. Noah would forever be on that list, connected to Quinn Fabray for the entirety of a lifetime.

It was understandable that Rachel was only mostly joking as she said, "So do you think I need to knee him in the groin and have Santana go all Lima Heights on him for good measure?"

"No, I don't think so, though Santana would love it," the blonde wiped her eyes, giggling softly as she let Rachel pull her into her arms. "Living here with him, he knows nothings ever going to happen but he keeps offering because he doesn't want to be like his father."

Rachel nodded, her fingers migrated up to the blonde locks hiding Quinn's beautiful eyes and gently combed them back behind her ear.

"I never thought I'd ever be here with you but I'm so completely happy that I am," Rachel whispered, leaning forward until their lips brushed softly. "Being here with you is my dream come true."

Quinn abruptly pulled away, her face feigning shock, hazel eyes once again sparkling. "But, Berry, what about Broadway?"

"Please," Rachel scoffed, coupled with a swift roll of her eyes. "Broadway is my inherent destiny, so it rightfully doesn't belong in the full fledged dream category."

Quinn laughed, shaking her head as the tiny brunette pouted in her arms. "I really love you, Rachel."

"Well, I've been told I'm exceptionally loveable," Rachel beamed but soon gazing up into Quinn's eyes had her anxiously biting at her lip. "Quinn, I need to apologize."

The blonde's smile fell, as she processed Rachel's words with a shake of her head. "Rachel—"

"No, Quinn, I must request you not interrupt or the hours I spent painstakingly practicing in the mirror will be for not."

Quinn nodded before she added, "Sure, Rachel."

Probably entirely in spite.

Rachel sighed.

She'd practiced this while Santana and Brittany spent an hour scouring her house for limes and Quinn had gone along to supervise. Well technically it was a brief run through but she'd been moderately pleased with the final result. Only now, Rachel was struggling for a place to begin and the more she faltered—feeling Quinn's inquisitive eyes burning into hers—the more nervous she became until it all came tumbling out in a slue of run on sentences.

"I know I'm selfish, sometimes I act selfishly without conscious thought. I almost regularly put my needs before others and I suppose I could excuse myself because my life thus far has just been comprised of being on my own but I refuse to commit such a injustice any longer. You deserve quite a lot more from me and sometimes I think about what you are freely walking away from in my name and I—"

"Rachel," Quinn interrupted, running her fingers softly over the tiny brunette's reddened cheeks. "Breathe please, sweetie. You look seconds away from passing out."

She didn't have the heart to reprimand Quinn after such a sweet term of endearment made her swoon, or that could be oxygen deprivation but she preferred to credit the more romantic of the two. Rachel breathed in deeply, exhaling as she gazed fondly up at Quinn and suddenly it all became crystal clear.

"I want to offer you the option to live with me and with my dads of course. I want to offer you a home, a place that you can always count on regardless of missteps or mistakes," Rachel paused seeing the tears in those hazel eyes and finally knew exactly what she wanted to say. "I suppose I essentially want to offer you me, if you'll have me. Unfortunately that isn't an euphemism for sex as of yet but—"

Rachel's eyes slipped closed as Quinn's tongue slipped through her lips. Slipping and sliding with hers in a tidal wave of delicious tropical fun.

"Yes, I…yes I'll be your girlfriend, Rachel," the tiny brunette hadn't even been aware Quinn had pulled away, as she gazed dreamily up into her favourite eyes. Rachel had the distinct feeling she tended to say that quite frequently. "Rachel?"

Said girl blinked once, then twice and her equilibrium seemed to be on its way back with a sudden jolt and a loud girlish squeal.

"This is wonderful, Quinn," Rachel clapped before attacking Quinn with another enthusiastic hug, "I feared all the _HGTV_ I've been watching would only be a horrible lesbian cliché without a room to decorate."

"I don't really think…" Quinn trailed off, gazing thoughtfully at her for only a second before she sighed, "what did you have in mind?"

Rachel instantly dove into a rather lengthy—and quite lively—explanation of her makeover plans. It was when she started relaying her intentions for crown moulding that Quinn led her to the bed and proceeded to situate herself comfortably in her arms without a word. Rachel did her best to stifle her laughter—having now shifted her focus to the merits of an accent wall—because any second now she'd be interrupted by—

Her rant ended with the muffled sounds of _wallpaper_.

Quinn's lips were against her own and Rachel smiled rather triumphantly; she knew the specifics of applying wallpaper correctly would do it.

Never let it be said that Rachel Berry wasn't (shamelessly) crafty at getting exactly what she wanted.

Because you'd be quite wrong.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, this is it. I wrote this story way back when because I was having trouble as a reader finding a proper season 1 rewrite to read. I'm not actually sure I accomplished my goal but I was entertained until the end, so maybe? This fic could've honestly gone on forever but I think this is where it needs to end. Rachel found that person to love her unconditionally in Quinn and whether Quinn sticks to her convictions or not, she'll still be that person for Rachel in the end. Anyway, it's been fun and thanks for reading :)


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